b 


BITS  OF  BACKGROUND 

IN  ONE  ACT  PLAYS 


BY 

EMMA  BEATRICE  BRUNNER 


NEW  YORK        ALFRED  A.  KNOPF        MCMXIX 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 
EMMA  BEATRICE  BRUNNER 


r 


In  their  present  form  these  plays  are  dedicated  to  the 
reading  public  only,  and  no  performances  of  them  may  be 
given  without  the  permission  of  the  author  who  may  be 
addressed  in  care  of  the  publisher.  Any  piracy  or  infringe 
ment  will  be  prosecuted  in  accordance  with  the  penalties 
provided  by  the  United  States  Statutes:  — 

Sec.  4966. —  Any  person  publicly  performing  or  repre 
senting  any  dramatic  or  musical  composition,  for  which 
copyright  has  been  obtained,  without  the  consent  of  the 
proprietor  of  the  said  dramatic  or  musical  composition,  or 
his  heirs  or  assigns,  shall  be  liable  for  damages  therefor, 
such  damages  in  all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such  sum,  not 
less  than  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars 
for  every  subsequent  performance,  as  to  the  Court  shall 
appear  to  be  just.  If  the  unlawful  performance  and  rep- 
resentatiort  'be  wilful  a.nd  for  profit,  such  person  or  persons 
shall  be  guflty  "of  a  rnjsdcme.anjMv  and  upon  conviction  be 
imprisoned  for  a  pe'ri6d  not  exceeding  one  year. —  U.  S. 
Revised \Sjaiu-fes,*  .Title  (<CH  Chap.  ?.« . 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATKS    OF   AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

OVER  AGE  5 
THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  51 
STRANGERS  71 
MAKING  A  MAN  99 


/!  330658 


OVER  AGE 


CHARACTERS 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY,  an  actress 
WILL  ANNERSLEY,  her  son 
MRS.  BEASELEY,  a  friend 
LEONTINE,  the  maid 
MRS.  SARAH  MULQUEEN 


PLACE 
New  York  City. 

TIME 

Autumn  of  1917  when  Government  regulations 
did  not  permit  women  relatives  of  men  in  service 
to  engage  in  overseas  work  and  passports  were  re 
fused  to  applicants  over  forty  years  of  age. 


OVER  AGE 

r  i  JHE  scene  is  the  living  room  in  the  home  of 
i        an  actress,  a  famous  one,  so  the  room  is 

-^-  well  furnished  with  taste  and  charm.  It 
is  essentially  a  becoming  background  although  just 
now,  a  rather  sombre  one.  At  least  WILL 
AN.NERSLEY  thinks  so.  He  enters,  pulls  up  the 
shades,  letting  in  the  sunshine;  sits  on  the  couch, 
disarranging  the  pillows;  drags  out  the  news 
papers  which  were  neatly  piled  on  the  table;  in 
short  upsets  everything.  He  is  probably  priv 
ileged  because  he  is  delicate  and  the  only  son  of  a 
highly  emotional,  adoring  mother. 

Suddenly  LEONTINE,  MRS.  ANNERSLEY'S  maid, 
comes  bustling  in.  In  the  glare  of  the  light  she 
looks  her  fifty  years,  though  her  hair  is  still  black, 
her  eyes  dark  and  snapping.  At  sight  of  the 
room  she  is  much  perturbed  and  therefore  over 
bold. 

LEONTINE 

Ah,  Monsieur,  it  is  too  bad !  This  room  —  the 
look  of  it!  I  implore  you  adjust  those  curtains. 
You  know  that  madamc  your  mother  could  never 

9 


io  OVER  AGE 

stand  this  glare.     She  is  coming  in  now;  this  min 

ute  !     I  beg  of  you  ! 

(While  LEONTINE  is  bustling  around  try- 
ing  to  put  everything  in  order  at  once, 
MRS.  ANNERSLEY  enters.} 

LEONTINE 
Monsieur!     Ah,  Madame! 


is  torn  between  the  very 
charming  woman  who  has  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  and  her  son  who  has  risen  to  re 
ceive  her.  The  woman  is  fifty,  but  even 
in  the  glare  there  is  nothing  to  betray  it, 
except  her  son.  She  is  in  a  luxurious  tea 
gown  that  harmonizes  with  the  apartment. 
LEONTINE  has  now  arranged  the  couch. 
MRS.  ANNERSLEY  recognizes  her  back 
ground  and  flits  into  it.  She  raises  a  news 
paper  to  her  eyes.) 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
(Shrinking  in  the  glare) 
Billyboy  —  Billy! 

ANNERSLEY 
Oh,  forgive  me,  Mater. 

(He  pulls  down  the  blinds,  and  her  face 

becomes  radiant  with  smiles.) 
I'm  worried  aboqt  my  job  ! 


OVER  AGE  ii 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Don't  let  anything  worry  you ;  I  never  do. 

ANNERSLEY 
(Importantly) 

You're  not  working  for  the  Department  of  Jus 
tice;  I  am. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
No,  thank  heaven! 

ANNERSLEY 

I've  been  there  this  morning,  talking  to  them 
and  to  some  of  the  Secret  Service  people.  There's 
such  a  lot  to  be  done !  What  with  spies  and 
German  intrigues  they  have  their  hands  full.  And 
I've  done  nothing,  nothing! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

(Plaintively) 
But,  Billy  boy,  what  can  you  do  ? 

ANNERSLEY 
(Moodily) 

I  don't  know !  That's  it.  Nothing  ever  comes 
my  way!  They  were  telling  me  this  morning 
about  a  woman  whom  they  strongly  suspect  is  one 
of  a  gang  of  bomb  makers,  a  spy  in  the  service  of 
the  enemy!  They  say  she  hangs  about  the  thea- 


12  OVER  AGE 

tres  a  good  deal.  You  haven't  happened  to  see, 
or  hear  anything  about  anyone  by  the  name  of 
Mulqueen?  That's  the  name  she  goes  by  now. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

No.  Anything  new  in  the  papers  this  morn 
ing? 

ANNERSLEY 

Nothing  special.  They've  arrested  a  Ger 
man,  masquerading  as  a  Belgian.  I  knew  they 
were  going  to  yesterday.  He's  been  using  Ger 
man-American  firms  as  dummies  to  get  wool  for 
Germany.  Then  — 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

(Irritably) 

Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that  sort  of  news !  We 
seem  to  talk  of  nothing  but  spies  in  this  house ! 

(Annersley  jumps  to   his  feet  nervously, 
conscious  of  wrong  doing.) 

LEONTINE 

(Quickly  with  infinite  comprehension) 
Madame   was   superb   last   night!     A   packed 
house  again! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
(Willing  to  admit  both  counts) 
Yes  —  yes. 


OVER  AGE  13 

LEONTINE 
There  was  more  applause  than  ever ! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
(With  a  sigh  of  satisfaction) 
Yes,  I  believe  there  was. 

LEONTINE 
And  again  the  house  it  was  sold  out! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Do  you  wonder  I  feel  half  dead  this  morning? 

ANNERSLEY 
(Anxious  to  make  amends) 

But  you  look  great! 

(The  faithful  LEONTINE  seeing  now  that 
all  is  well,  disappears  about  her  work.) 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
(All  smiles) 

Oh,  Billy  boy,  you're  a  dear!  What  should  I 
do  without  you?  How  I  suffered  the  day  you 
went  up  for  examination!  If  they  had  accepted 
you !  Ah,  the  poor  mothers  and  wives !  My 
heart  bleeds  for  them!  (Now  almost  in  tears.) 
Billy  boy,  if  they  were  to  take  you  —  I'd  kill  my 
self. 


i4  OVER  AGE 

ANNERSLEY 
Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

No;  no;  perhaps  not!  I  should  live!  My 
face  would  show  my  suffering;  my  breaking  heart, 
my  tortured  soul  would  be  reflected  there. 

(MRS.  ANNERSLEY  acts  her  suffering  to 
the  full  and  is  only  interrupted  by  the  en 
trance  of  MRS.  BEASELEY.) 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

Leontine  said  I  could  come  in. 

(The  interruption  comes  from  their  neigh 
bor  and  intimate  friend.     She  is  a  splen 
did  specimen  of  womanhood^  big,  fine,  fifty. 
A  few  grey  hairs,  a  few  lines,  but  healthy 
and  strong,  full  of  exuberance  and  energy.) 
I  stopped  just  for  a  moment  to  ask  if  I  might 
bring  you  over  some  eggs  from  the  farm  —  but 
what's  the  matter? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Oh,  we  poor  mothers  and  wives ! 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
(In  consternation) 
My  dear! 


OVER  AGE  15 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

Those  who  have  sons  in  France.  If  my  son 
were  there ! 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
But  he  isn't. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

But  if  he  were  there!  If  he  were  strong 
enough !  My  dear  when  one  has  an  imagination 
one  suffers.  (Her  tone  indicates  that  her  neigh 
bor  has  none.)  Tell  me,  what  news  have  you? 
Anything  more  ? 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

(Simply) 
My  boy  is  not  dead,  or  I  should  have  heard. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
How  do  you  stand  it? 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
By  keeping  busy;  by  helping  other  boys. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

If  you  could  only  go  over  to  nurse,  or  some 
thing — 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

Impossible,  no  mothers  are  allowed.  And  then 
my  age ;  they  want  young  women.  If  I  only  looked 
thirty-five ! 


1 6  OVER  AGE 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

(Complacently) 
Yes,  you  do  look  older. 

ANNERSLEY 
(Breaking  in) 
There's  a  lot  to  be  done  here ! 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
Yes,  yes,   looking  after  our  boys. 

ANNERSLEY 
And  looking  after  the  spies! 

(Enter  LEONTINE  with  card) 

LEONTINE 

For  madame ! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

For  me?  Why,  Leontine,  you  know  I'm  not  at 
home!  Who  is  it?  (Reading  card.)  "Dear 
Lady:  I  hope  you  will  receive  me,  pardon  the 
liberty.  I  need  advice  that  you  above  all  others 
can  give  me.  Yours  in  heartfelt  admiration. 
Sarah  Mulqueen."  I  never  heard  of  her! 

ANNERSLEY 
(In  great  excitement) 
Read  that  again! 


OVER  AGE  17 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
Why,  what's  the  matter?     Billy!     What  is  it? 

ANNERSLEY 

Let  me  see  that  card!  (He  reads  it  eagerly.) 
Sarah  Mulqueen !  Mother,  that's  the  name  I  just 
told  you !  Sarah  Mulqueen  is  a  spy,  a  famous 
spy!  The  Secret  Service  has  been  after  her  for 
weeks!  You  must  see  her!  It's  the  most  won 
derful  coincidence!  Leontine,  where  is  she? 

LEONTINE 
In  the  reception  room. 

ANNERSLEY 

Go  back  to  her !  Don't  let  her  out  of  your 
sight !  Tell  her  Madame  will  see  her  in  a  minute ! 
Keep  her.  Mrs.  Beaseley,  help  me! 

(TjEONTiNE  nods  reassuringly  and  exits.) 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
It  seems  worth  while,  Julia ! 

ANNERSLEY 

She  doesn't  dream  she's  going  to  walk  into  a 
trap ! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Julia  Annersley  traps  a  spy! 

(Visualizing    headlines    in    the    morning 
papers  and  yielding  graciously.) 


1 8  OVER  AGE 

ANNERSLEY 

(Briskly) 

Now  we  must  be  prepared  for  everything,  any 
thing;  she's  probably  a  coarse,  bold  creature,  who 
will  offend  you  every  time  she  speaks.  They  told 
me  she  had  several  aliases  and  any  number  of  dis 
guises.  One  man  said  she  was  young  and  blonde; 
another  swore  she  had  dark  hair!  She's  here  for 
a  purpose,  of  course.  We  must  be  on  our  guard; 
none  of  us  must  tell  her  anything,  and  yet  we 
musn't  seem  to  suspect.  There's  something  she 
wants  to  find  out,  of  course,  or  she  wouldn't  have 
asked  for  the  interview !  And,  mother  —  she 
may  want  to  see  you  alone. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
(Interrupting  nervously) 
What? 

ANNERSLEY 

But  I'll  be  within  call  if  she  does.  See,  I'll 
watch  from  here ! 

(Indicates  a  curtained  door  leading  to  an 
other  room.) 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
I'll  go  as  soon  as  I've  seen  her! 

ANNERSLEY 

And  none  of  us  must  forget  that  she  has  said 
she'll  never  be  taken  alive ! 


OVER  AGE  19 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 
(Seeing  herself  in  a  new  role) 
You  mean  she  carries  a  pistol? 

ANNERSLEY 

Possibly.     But  so  do  I !     Now,  mother,  are  you 
ready? 

(He  raises  the  shade  again.) 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

(Protesting) 
Billy  boy ! 

ANNERSLEY 

(Impatiently) 

Mater,    remember   she's    a    spy,    a    dangerous 
character !     We  must  be  able  to  see  her ! 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
Shall  I  ask  Leontine  to  bring  her  in? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
One  moment !     Here  move  the  couch  forward ! 

ANNERSLEY 
(Placing  chair  in  light) 

This  is  her  chair,  mother.     Now  be  careful! 
Now  Mrs.  Beaseley! 

(MRS.  BEASELEY  exits.) 


20  OVER  AGE 

ANNERSLEY 
(Quickly) 

And  one  thing  more,  mother;  don't  let  her  leave 
under  any  circumstances!  No  matter  what  hap 
pens  you  must  keep  her!  Let  her  have  what 
ever  she  wants.  Anything,  anything!  Don't 
fail  me! 

(In  the  slight  pause  that  follows,  they  ar 
range  themselves  for  the  proper  reception 
of  MRS.  MULQUEEN.  Then  MRS.  BEASE- 
LEY  returns  followed  by  LEONTINE.) 

LEONTINE 
(Announcing) 

Madame  Mulqueen! 

(A  small  pathetic,  insignificant,  elderly 
person  carrying  a  black  bag  comes  timidly 
in  at  the  door,  a  figure  in  dingy  grey. 
Skin,  hair,  eyes,  all  look  as  if  tinted  with 
the  same  dull  hue.  Altogether  Mrs. 
Mulqueen  in  manner  and  appearance  is 
a  surprise  to  everyone.) 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

(Recovering  first,  after  an  awkward  pause) 
Are  you  Mrs.  Mulqueen?     (MRS.  MULQUEEN 
nods  timidly.)     This  is  my  friend,  Mrs.  Beaseley, 
a  great  worker  for  the  Red  Cross,  and  my  son, 
Mr.  Annersley.     Won't  you  be  seated? 


OVER  AGE  21 

ANNERSLEY 

Here;  here,  sit  here. 

(MRS.  MULQUEEN  has  moved  awk 
wardly  to  an  arm-chair,  but  ANNERSLEY 
actually  insists  upon  the  chair  in  the  light. 
She  moves  it  out  of  the  light.  He  pushes 
it  back.  Finally  she  sits  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  it.) 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Uncomfortably) 

I  wasn't  expecting  to  see  anyone.  I  thought 
you'd  be  alone.  I  —  I  — 

(She  hesitates,  and  pauses.  They  all  ex 
change  significant  glances.) 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

You  didn't  mention  that  your  business  con 
cerned  me  alone. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Awkwardly) 

Oh,  didn't  I  ?  I'm  sorry.  I  don't  express  my 
self  well.  I  never  could,  not  even  at  school. 
That's  my  trouble.  I  mean  one  trouble. 
There  now,  I've  blurted  it  out!  Have  I  hurt 
anyone's  feelings?  I  hope  not;  I  wouldn't  do 
that  for  the  world. 


22  OVER  AGE 

ANNERSLEY 
(Quickly,  with  a  glance  at  his  mother) 

Oh,  we  were  going  anyway.  I've  got  a  lot  of 
things  to  do ! 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

I  was  going  too.  I'll  bring  you  over  the  eggs 
before  I  start  for  the  hospital. 

(ANNERSLEY  crosses  to  his  mother f  and 
lays  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  reassur 
ingly.) 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

(To  MRS.  BEASELEY) 
You're  in  a  hospital? 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

Yes,  helping,  helping  all  I  can  for  my  son. 
He's  over  there  —  (ANNERSLEY  makes  a  sign  for 
her  to  tell  nothing,  and  she  ends  lamely)  some 
where  in  Europe. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Quivering  suddenly) 
Your  son  —  over  there? 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
Yes  —  Why,  what's  the  matter? 


OVER  AGE  23 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

(Apparently  confused) 

Nothing.  I  was  just  thinking  —  you've  a  son ! 
That's  all. 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
That  seems  to  surprise  you. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Hesitating) 

No  —  no  —  I  —  (Stupidly)  Lots  of  women 
have  sons ! 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

(Proudly) 
Mine's  a  Colonel  in  the  3  8th  Infantry. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Shrilly,  as  though  losing  control  of  her  'voice) 
The  3  8th! 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

You  know  someone  in  the  38th? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

Yes  —  that  is  —  well —  I  didn't  say  I  knew 
anyone,  did  I?  I  didn't  mean  to.  ,1  —  no  —  no. 
You  see  I  express  myself  badly.  I  told  you  I  did. 
I'm  not  used  to  people. 


24  OVER  AGE 

MRS.  BEASELEY 
(Bitterly) 

Oh,  well,  I  can  see  you  haven't  anyone  very 
near  to  you  over  there ! 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

Can  you  ?  To  be  sure  !  Of  course  you  can. 
(Through  all  this,  WILL  ANNERSLEY  has 
been  getting  more  and  more  irritable. 
Things  don't  seem  to  be  progressing  his 
way  at  all.  This  MRS.  MULQUEEN  is  a 
most  curious  person.  One  minute  she 
seems  to  be  on  the  verge  of  tears;  the  next 
her  voice  is  shrill  with  excitement.  But  he 
has  had  experience  enough  to  know  that 
any  sort  of  person  may  be  a  spy.  He  is 
anxious  to  get  to  work.) 

ANNERSLEY 

(Abruptly,  even  sharply) 

I  must  be  off.     Are  you  coming,  Mrs.  Bease- 
ley? 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

Yes;  yes,  to  be  sure.     I'll  be  back  again  with 
the  eggs. 

(The  two  women  are  left  alone.  There 
is  a  long  pause.  SARAH  MULQUEEN 
never  moves  her  eyes  from  the  actress. 
At  last  MRS.  ANNERSLEY  rises  nervously.) 


OVER  AGE  25 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

Well,  what  is  it?  You  wrote  you  wanted  to 
see  me.  Well? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Looking  around  timidly) 

It's  —  it's  —  I'll  come  to  it  in  a  moment.  Oh, 
you're  so  wonderful!  (MRS.  ANNERSLEY,  un 
deniably  pleased,  sits  down  again.  Another 
pause.)  And  that  was  your  son  that  went  out  of 
the  room  a  moment  ago  ? 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

(Wonderingly) 
Yes. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

I  heard  you  had  a  son,  about  twenty-five.  That 
makes  it  all  the  more  wonderful. 

(MRS.  MULQUEEN  stares  at  MRS.  AN 
NERSLEY,  stares  and  stares,  in  a  way  that 
is  almost  embarrassing.) 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

(At  last) 
Makes  what  wonderful? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(With  genuine  admiration) 
The   way  you   look.      Not  more   than  thirty- 
five!    Thirty  even,  at  a  pinch! 


26  OVER  AGE 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

Thank  you. 

(Another  pause,  which  threatens  to  be  em 
barrassing.) 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

Now  your  friend,  the  lady  that  just  went  out 
—  what's  her  name? 

(Carelessly  playing  with  a  paper  cutter  ly 
ing  on  table.) 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 

(Suspiciously  and  eagerly,  because  she  is 
glad  to  have  something  to  be  suspicious 
about.) 
Why?    Why  do  you  want  to  know ? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

Why  just  so   as  to   indicate  her.      What   else 
should  there  be? 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

(Still  suspicious,  nervously  removes  paper  cutter) 
Her  name  is  Beaseley. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Reflectively) 
She  looks  her  age. 


OVER  AGE  27 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 
(Puzzled,  but  not  displeased) 
Yes,  she  does. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
So  does  the  woman  who  let  me  in. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
My  maid,  Leontine. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

And  I.  Three  old  women!  And  you  young 
among  us! 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 
(Her  most  gracious  self) 
What  do  you  mean? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  look  all  the 
younger  because  we  look  so  old.  It  makes  a  heap 
of  difference. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
But  you  haven't  asked  to  see  me  about  that? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

No;  no.  (Looks  around  timidly.)  I'm  com 
ing  to  it.  Even  here  in  this  room  close  to, 
you're  wonderful.  Oh,  I've  seen  you  in  all  your 
plays.  Every  night  I've  been  to  see  you,  and  I 


28  OVER  AGE 

wasn't  sure  if  you'd  look  young  off  the  stage.     So 
I  sent  in  my  card,  asking  you  to  see  me. 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 
It  was  most  unusual. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Awkwardly) 
Would  you  mind  changing  seats  with  me? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

(Alarmed) 
What  for? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

Oh,  just  —  I  want  to  see  how  you  look  in  the 
sunlight.     You  don't  mind? 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 

Indeed  I  do  mind ! 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
Ah,  that's  a  point ! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
(Bluntly  and  no  longer  afraid.     No  one  could  be 

afraid  of  this  woman) 
Are  you  here  taking  points?    For  what? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

I  want  to  be  young.     You're  always  young; 
young  when  you're  sad;  young  when  you're  gay; 


OVER  AGE  29 

young;  young!  I  look  so  old,  so  much  older. 
Yet,  you  won't  mind  if  I  say  it?  (In  a  whisper.) 
I'm  not. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
How  do  you  know? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
Well,  your  son. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
(Very  patronizing) 

Yes,  but  you  see  I  was  only  sixteen  when  he 
was  born,  and  he's  just  past  twenty.  So  — 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Interrupting  eagerly) 

That's  what  I  want  to  say!  I'm  dying  to  say 
just  that;  but  I  can't! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
(With  genuine  amazement) 
You! 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

I  can't,  because  people  wouldn't  believe  me; 
because  I  can't  look  it.  Any  woman  who  can  look 
it,  can  say  it.  And  nowadays  there  are  so  many. 
Oh,  help  me!  Help  me! 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
Help  you? 


30  OVER  AGE 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

Help  me  to  be  able  to  say  it,  to  look  it. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

That's  most  extraordinary.  You !  You  want 
to  be  — 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Eagerly  interrupting) 
Young!    Young! 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
But  — 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Pleading  earnestly) 
If  you  can,  why  can't  I? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

Well,  you  are  the  most  astonishing  person  I 
ever  met! 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
Will  you  help  me? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
I? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

That's  what  I  came  for.  Now  it's  out.  And 
you'll  think  I'm  a  fool,  but  I'm  not.  I'm  only  a 
woman  —  a  woman  — 

(Breaking  off  feebly.) 


OVER  AGE  31 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

Oh,  my  dear  madam,  it's  not  every  woman  who 
can  throw  off  a  dozen  years  at  will.  It's  a  talent 
like  any  other. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

But  perhaps  I  have  the  talent;  perhaps  I'm  like 
the  man  who  didn't  know  he  could  play  the  violin 
till  he  tried.  I've  never  tried,  because  no  one 
cared.  You  see  I  just  let  myself  go,  for  years 
and  years.  I  lived  for  my  husband.  I  didn't  men 
tion  before  I  had  a  husband.  He  was  one  of  the 
kind  that  never  noticed  how  I  looked,  what  I  had 
on.  It  didn't  make  any  difference  to  him  so  long 
as  the  stew  was  right,  not  too  thick,  and  the  po 
tatoes  crisp.  Once,  or  twice,  on  our  wedding 
day  for  instance,  I  dressed  up.  I  bought  a  fichu, 
a  lace  fichu.  I've  got  it  here  in  this  bag.  I  put 
it  on,  hoping  he'd  notice  it  and  like  it.  I  felt  just 
like  a  girl.  "  Where  did  you  get  that?  "  he  asked. 
"  At  Simpson's,"  said  I.  Simpson's  is  the  little 
store  near  us.  "  What  for?  "  says  he.  "  What 
did  you  get  it  for?  "  Well,  it  just  seemed  as 
though  I  didn't  know  what  I  did  get  it  for.  So  1 
said  nothing,  and  that  night  I  laid  it  away  with 
some  other  things  I  had  when  I  was  young.  But 
even  after  that,  sometimes  in  my  room  alone,  I've 
had  a  feeling  —  (Glances  timidly  about  her.) 
as  though  I  wanted  to  be  young.  One  night  I 


32  OVER  AGE 

looked  so  pale  and  wan  that  I  even  tried  with 
some  roses,  red  roses  I  had  on  a  bonnet.  You 
know,  the  kind  the  colour  comes  off  of.  I  rubbed 
them  on  my  cheeks,  and  I  looked  like  myself 
twenty  years  ago.  I  felt  as  though  I  could  do  most 
anything  that  I  did  then,  sing  or  dance.  I  took 
some  time  that  night  doing  up  my  hair,  made  it 
looser,  fluffed  it  out.  Of  course  I  rubbed  off  the 
colour  before  I  went  out  to  dinner,  but  some  of  it 
must  have  stayed.  "Been  putting  up  jams?" 
said  James;  his  name  was  James.  "You  look 
all  het  up."  I  guess  I  was  born  with  ambitions, 
for  I  was  often  miserable,  used  to  cry  when  I  was 
alone  because  I  amounted  to  so  little! 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
(Uneasy  and  somewhat  moved) 
That's  where  you  made  a  mistake. 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

To  cry?     Yes,  I  know.     Hurts  the  eyes  and 
fades  them  out. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
To  cry  alone  is  always  a  mistake. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Apparently  not  understanding) 

But  I  was  so  miserable. 


OVER  AGE  33 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

When  I'm  miserable,  everyone  knows  it.  My 
servants,  Leontine,  my  son.  I  share  my  misery 
with  the  world.  Hidden  emotion  is  most  wearing. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

You  share  it?  And  I,  I've  waited  all  day 
crushing  back  my  tears,  stifling  my  sighs,  going 
about  with  a  breaking  heart,  and  smiling  lips;  wait 
ing  for  the  dead  of  night,  ashamed.  For  years 
I've  been  ashamed  to  show  what  I  felt;  ashamed 
to  want  to  look  pretty;  afraid  I'd  seem  conceited 
and  foolish.  You  never  feel  foolish? 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
Certainly  not.     It's  my  business. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Resolutely) 

And  now  it's  my  business !  At  last  I  don't  feel 
foolish  at  all  or  vain.  I  have  a  reason  for  it  all; 
a  reason  to  be  young;  a  reason  greater  than  van 
ity,  greater  than  — 

(Breaks  of  abruptly  as  though  realizing 
she  has  gone  too  far.) 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

(Curiously) 

This  is  very  interesting.  What  is  your  reason? 
Who  is  it  you  want  to  please? 


34  OVER  AGE 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

(Confused) 
Who?     The  world,  everyone! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Some  man? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Jumping  at  the  suggestion) 

Yes,  yes,  I'm  young  here  in  my  heart;  just  as 
young  as  ever  I  was,  just  as  anxious  to  please. 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 
But  my  dear  woman  — 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Quickly  interrupting) 

I  know  you  have  wonderful  black  eyes,  and 
lovely  hair.  Not  a  grey  hair.  But  look  at  mine. 
(She  pulls  off  her  hat  to  plead  her  cause.)  If  it 
was  combed  smooth  and  glossed  up,  and  dressed 
right.  That's  it!  I'm  taking  points  from  you  all 
the  while.  I've  got  to  learn  quickly,  and  then  I'll 
come  out  somewhere.  You'll  see,  you'll  see.  I've 
never  had  the  chance.  I've  lived  in  my  kitchen 
while  the  world  was  going  on,  never  dreaming 
what  youth  meant,  and  looks,  and  the  real  business 
of  a  woman. 


OVER  AGE  35 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
How  old  is  he?     The  man  you  love? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
The  man  I  love !    How  old  should  you  guess  ? 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 

Well,  he  must  be  elderly;  sixty  or  so,  I  should 
say. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

He's    beautiful!     Young,    blonde,    fearless  — 
twenty-five. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

Twenty-five  ?    You !    If  you  can  have  a  lover  of 
twenty-five  you're  young. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

But  he  —  he  —   (Abruptly  breaking  of.)    No, 
that's  my  secret. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

Ah,  he  doesn't  love  you !    And  you're  trying  to 
get  him  back? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Insisting  upon  comparing  herself  with  the  beau 
tiful  JULIA  ANNERSLEY,) 
You  still  please  men,  don't  you? 


36  OVER  AGE 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
But  I  always  did ! 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

So  did  I  once.  See,  that's  the  way  I  was,  once. 
(Digs  down  into  her  bag  and  brings  out  a  photo 
graph.)  My  dress  was  pink.  I  never  had  but 
one  pink  dress,  and  it  had  a  fichu  of  lace  like  the 
one  I  got  at  Simpson's.  I've  got  it  here.  It  gives 
me  a  long  line  like  yours,  the  fichu  does;  and  I  had 
little  slippers  with  high  heels.  Oh,  I  can  remem 
ber  how  tall  I  felt  in  them !  And  now  my  dress  is 
dull  and  grey,  and  my  shoes  are  broad  and  low, 
and  I'm  sloppy  and  old. 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

And  in  love  with  a  boy  twenty-five ! 

(The  actress  folds  her  arms  and  looks  at 
SARAH  MULQUEEN  as  from  a  height.) 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

Don't  move!  I'm  learning!  I'm  learning! 
When  I  fold  my  arms  I  do  it  this  way  —  (Stoop- 
ing  and  slopping  over.)  But  you,  you  fold  them 
high,  like  Napoleon.  I've  seen  pictures  of  him. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
He  was  short.     So  am  I ! 


OVER  AGE  37 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

And  your  high  heels !  My  shoes  are  disgrace 
ful.  I've  really  got  pretty  feet.  Then  your 
walk!  Oh,  I  know  how  you  glide.  And  your 
back  is  young,  your  shoulders  straight. 

(Suddenly  MRS.  MULQUEEN  picks  up  her 
bag.) 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
(Alarmed  and  remembering  that  she  was  to  keep 

the  spy  at  any  cost) 
What  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

I've  had  my  lesson.  I  wish  you  could  see  what 
it's  done  for  me.  I  wish  I  could  make  myself 
pretty  for  you.  I've  some  things  in  my  bag!  If 
I  only  could  — 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
(Completely  roused) 

Wait  a  minute  —  I'll  call  my  maid.  You 
mustn't  go!  Leontine!  (LEONTINE  appears.) 
Leontine  is  very  clever;  she'll  take  you  to  my 
room;  she'll  dress  your  hair!  Your  feet  are  no 
larger  than  mine.  She'll  give  you  a  pair  of  my 
slippers.  She'll  show  you  how  to  add  a  little  col 
our  to  your  cheeks !  She's  very  clever.  Go  with 
her.  Go ;  go !  Leontine,  make  Madame  beau- 


38  OVER  AGE 

tiful,  do  your  best.     Then  let  me  see  how  you 
look.     Please;  please! 

(  MRS.  ANNERSLEY  actually  pushes  her  out 

with  LEONTINE  and  then  sinks  exhausted 

into  a  chair.) 

(ANNERSLEY  comes  in  cautiously.) 

ANNERSLEY 
(In  an  excited  whisper) 
Well?    Well?    What  do  you  think? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
You  heard  what  she  said? 

ANNERSLEY 
(Nervously  and  beginning  to  wonder  if  he's  on  the 

right  track  after  all) 
She's  clever,  eh? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
She  wants  to  be  beautiful  for  some  man! 

ANNERSLEY 
(Scornfully) 
Some  man !     Don't  you  believe  it. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

She's  a  most  interesting  study;  I  never  saw  any 
one  quite  like  her.  If  one  were  to  put  her  on  the 
stage,  no  one  would  believe  — 


OVER  AGE  39 

ANNERSLEY 

(Breaking  in,   always  with  an  eye  on  the  door 
through  which  SARAH  MULQUEEN  disap 
peared,  and  in  a  low  voice) 
She's  notorious! 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
It  seems  incredible  !    I'm  sure  you're  wrong. 

ANNERSLEY 

Nonsense!  I  know  all  about  her!  She's  a 
dreadful  person ! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Well,  then,  she's  wonderful ! 

ANNERSLEY 
(Knowingly) 

Precisely!  That's  what  they  all  say.  Don't 
let  her  fool  you ! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

But  this  woman  is  so  timid,  so  faded.  I  can't 
make  it  out! 

ANNERSLEY 

(With  great  superiority) 

I  know!  That's  nothing.  It's  some  sort  of 
make-up.  She's  clever,  wonderfully  clever.  I 
grant  you  that.  But  you  were  superb!  We'll 
have  the  gratitude  of  the  whole  nation  tomorrow ! 


40  OVER  AGE 

MRS.  AN-NERSLEY 
What  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

ANNERSLEY 
Do?    Hand  her  over!    What  do  you  suppose? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
(Still  unconvinced) 

A  spy  with  that  make-up !  Incredible !  You 
heard  her  say  she  was  going  over  to  the  other 
side? 

ANNERSLEY 
Yes  —  when? 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
I  don't  know. 

ANNERSLEY 

She  mustn't  leave  this  house,  Mater,  till  I'm 
ready;  no  matter  what  we  sacrifice.  I'll  bet  she's 
planning  to  blow  up  a  transport  this  minute. 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Hush,  she's  coming! 

ANNERSLEY 

Remember  they  said  she'd  never  be  taken  alive ! 
(MRS.  MULQUEEN  enters,  transformed. 
LEONTINE  has  covered  her  hair  with  one 
of  MRS.  ANNERSLEY'S  wigs.  She  has  on 
the  fichu  from  her  bag.  Her  cheeks  are 


OVER  AGE  41 

rouged,  her  slippers  are  high-heeled.  Her 
walk  and  her  manner  are  quite  different. 
She  has  thrown  off  twenty  years.) 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

(Showing  pleasure  almost  like  a  child,   turns  to 
ANNERSLEY) 

You  don't  know  me!     Do  you  now? 

ANNERSLEY 

Well,  you're  wonderful !  No  one  would  know 
you  !  I  swear  they  wouldn't. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(With  satisfaction) 

Yes.  I'm  the  old  lady  that  went  out  of  here ! 
Am  I  young?  Do  I  look  natural?  See  my  hair! 
How  old  do  I  look? 

ANNERSLEY 

(Slowly  with  cleverness) 
Let  me  see  !     My  mother  tells  me  some  man  — 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Following  him  eagerly) 
Yes  — 

ANNERSLEY 
How  old  is  he  ? 


42  OVER  AGE 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 
Young;  your  age;  twenty-five! 

ANNERSLEY 
Where  is  he? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

Over  there  —  somewhere.  I'll  tell  you  some 
thing,  a  secret;  he's  wounded  and  I'm  going  over 
to  him.  I  can  do  my  bit  as  well  as  the  youngest. 
You  believe  me  now  when  I  look  like  this;  now 
that  I  am  no  longer  wrinkled  and  withered.  I'm 
young,  young.  I  haven't  an  ache  or  a  pain.  I'm 
going  to  him.  I  can  do  anything  now,  that  youth 
and  strength  can  do;  anything,  now  that  some 
one  isn't  telling  me  I'm  old  and  useless. 

.  ANNERSLEY 
Have  you  got  your  passport? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Proudly) 
Yes;  see!     Sarah  Mulqueen! 

(She  hands  him  her  passport.) 

ANNERSLEY 

By  Jove!  (ANNERSLEY  takes  the  passport,  ex 
amines  it  carefully;  grabs  magnifying  glass  from 
table,  shrugs  and  grunts  out  at  a  venture.)  It's 
forged ! 


OVER  AGE  43 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

(Shrilly) 
Forged !    Not  genuine  ? 

ANNERSLEY 
No. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
But  I've  paid  for  it! 

ANNERSLEY 
You?    What? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(More  and  more  excited) 

You  mean  I  can't  go  over  on  it!    You  mean  — 
What  do  you  mean? 

ANNERSLEY 

(Looking  at  her  threateningly) 

• 
I  mean  that  Sarah  Mulqueen  is  an  enemy  alien ! 

The  Department  of  Justice  has  been  hunting  her 
for  weeks. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(As  though  appalled) 

An  enemy  —  Sarah  Mulqueen?     Boy,  do  you 
know  what  you're  saying? 


44  OVER  AGE 

ANNERSLEY 

(More  and  more  menacing) 
Yes.     She  and  her  gang  have  laid  plans  to  blow 
up  our  boats  in  the  harbour.     We've  been  trailing 
her  for  weeks.     I  don't  mind  telling  you  now  we 
had  almost  given  up  hope  when  you  — 

( The  entrance  of  MRS.  BEASELEY  in  great 
excitement  interrupts;  so  excited  is  she  that 
she  takes  even  the  transformed  old  lady 
for  granted.) 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

News !    Wonderful  news !    The  wounded  of  the 
38th  Infantry  are  coming  home. 

(Suddenly  MRS.  MULQUEEN  appears  to 
be  on  the  verge  of  collapse;  ANNERSLEY 
never  takes  his  eyes  off  her.) 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

(Gasping) 
The  3  8th! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

(Joyfully) 
Your  boy! 

MRS.  BEASELEY 

(In  ecstasy) 
Yes,  my  Albert ! 


OVER  AGE  45 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Oh,  my  dear  friend! 

ANNERSLEY 

(To  Mrs.  Mulqueen  who  is  now  strangely  excited) 
What  is  it? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Between  tears  and  smiles) 

The  38th!  The  38th!  That's  my  boy's  regi 
ment.  He's  wounded ;  he's  coming  home ;  my  boy  I 
Uncle  Sam  has  played  fair;  he's  given  me  back  my 
boy! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 
Your  boy! 

ANNERSLEY 
Who  are  you? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(With  quivering  lips) 

I'm  the  mother  of  a  soldier  in  the  38th  —  the 
mother  of  a  wounded  boy  — 

ANNERSLEY 
(Resentfully) 
You're  not  Sarah  Mulqueen? 


46  OVER  AGE 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

Bless  you  no !  I'm  the  mother  of  a  boy  like 
you;  only  he's  wounded.  There  was  no  place  at 
his  bedside  for  an  old  lady  who  happened  to  be 
his  mother.  I  was  trying  to  cheat  to  get  over  to 
him,  to  be  with  him,  to  nurse  him.  My  husband 
was  Colonel  Andrews.  My  boy  is  Charlie  An 
drews.  I  came  on  to  New  York  from  Minne 
apolis  a  year  ago.  Oh,  I  wanted  so  to  go  over. 
Can  you  understand  it?  I  didn't  realize  I  was  too 
old.  I  only  knew  I  was  a  mother.  My  age  came 
upon  me  all  of  a  heap  when  they  looked  at  me 
and  turned  me  down.  That  was  before  they  knew 
I  had  a  son  over  there.  "  Knit,  knit,"  they  said, 
"Knit!"  The  old  lady's  job!  But  I  didn't 
want  to  knit.  I  didn't  want  to  sit  at  home  and 
knit.  Good  Lord,  that  meant  thinking!  I  told 
them  I  was  willing  to  do  anything.  I'm  vigorous 
if  I  am  more  than  35.  I  can  work  as  well  as  the 
youngest,  and  I  can  suffer  and  be  silent.  They 
turned  me  down  when  I  told  them  the  truth; 
turned  me  down  for  silly  girls  in  love  with  ad 
venture;  turned  me  down  because  I  was  a 
mother,  a  mother  and  fifty!  And  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  cheat  Uncle  Sam,  to  go  to  my  boy  in  spite 
of  rules  and  regulations.  I  met  Sarah  Mulqueen. 
She's  young  and  has  no  son  to  give.  She  sold  me 
her  passport,  gave  me  her  name  in  exchange  for 
mine.  Then  I  saw  Mrs.  Annersley,  young  and 


OVER  AGE  47 

yet  my  age ;  young  with  a  son  as  old  as  mine.  Do 
you  see?  And  now  Uncle  Sam  has  played  fair; 
he's  bringing  my  boy  home  —  (To  MRS.  BEASE- 
LEY.)  Your  boy  and  mine!  (Recovering  and 
crossing  over  to  mirror.)  I  wonder  if  he'll  know 
me  this  way !  What  do  you  say,  boy? 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 
(With  conviction) 
She's  telling  the  truth! 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

(As  if  anyone  could  doubt  it!) 
The  truth? 

ANNERSLEY 

By  thunder!  I  believe  she  is!  I've  made  a 
fool  of  myself.  What  shall  I  do? 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
What  is  it?     What's  wrong? 

ANNERSLEY 

(With  sudden  inspiration) 

Listen:  If  you  can  help  hand  Sarah  Mulqueen 
over  to  the  detectives,  you'll  be  one  of  the  greatest 
women  of  America ! 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(Enjoying  it  hugely) 
I?    Old  Mrs.  Andrews?    Great? 


48  OVER  AGE 

ANNERSLEY 
(Eagerly) 
Can  you?     Can  you? 

MRS.    MULQUEEN 

Can  I?  Why,  she's  waiting  for  me  now.  I'm 
to  give  her  another  hundred  dollars  for  her  pass 
port.  I'll  take  you  to  her! 

ANNERSLEY 
(Suddenly) 

Good !    I'll  be  with  you  in  just  a  minute. 

(Hurries  out,  closing  the  door  after  him.) 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(With  a  sudden  burst  of  patriotism) 

Ah,  there's  work  here  for  American  women  if 
they  only  knew  it! 

MRS.  ANNERSLEY 

(Slowly  relinquishing  her  own  dream  of  adver 
tisement) 

Mrs.  Andrews  of  Minneapolis  traps  a  spy! 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 
(With  savage  determination) 
Leave  her  to  me ! 


OVER  AGE  49 

MRS.  AN.NERSLEY 

(After  a  moment's  consideration  joyously  discov 
ering  some  balm  in  Gilead) 
Trap  set  in  the  home  of  Julia  Annersley! 

(The  three  women  smile  happily,  each  in 
her  own  way,  when  in  through  the  door 
bursts  ANNERSLEY.) 

ANNERSLEY 

(Breathless  with  excitement) 
It  is !  It  is  !  She  is  Sarah  Mulqueen !  Lock 
the  doors !  (He  locks  one  while  the  women  fly  to 
the  others.)  I've  just  been  talking  to  head 
quarters!  She  and  her  pal  were  out  together; 
they  caught  the  pal  but  she  escaped;  slipped  into 
this  house;  intending  to  appear  in  a  new  disguise 
from  new  quarters.  Knew  you  lived  here,  Mater! 
It  was  all  planned!  Her  pal  has  confessed. 

MRS.  MULQUEEN 

Damn  him !  (Recognizing  that  the  game  is  up, 
she  suddenly  reveals  herself  with  startling  vulgar 
ity.)  The  dirty  little  hound  I  Well,  I'll  die  game ! 
And  don't  any  of  you  forget  how  I  fooled  the 
great  Julia  Annersley!  Some  acting,  eh?  And 
I'd  have  got  away  with  it  too  —  if  —  if  —  God, 
how  I  hate  all  men ! 

(Snarling  and  struggling  viciously  in  AN- 
NERSLEY'S  hands,  as  the  curtain  falls.) 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 


t  JT'U 


CHARACTERS 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
THE  NURSE 
DR.  CARTWRIGHT 
DR.  WALKER 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

F I  ^HE  curtain  rises  on  an  empty  stage,  dis- 

I         closing  a  luxurious  living  room  in  a  mod- 
~*~         ern  apartment  house. 

A  single  doorway  opens  into  the  hall,  which  ap 
parently  leads  on  the  left  to  the  front  door,  on  the 
right  to  the  dining  room,  and  beyond  to  the  bed 
room. 

The  room  is  essentially  cheerful.  Everything 
in  it  suggests  home  and  people  of  taste.  There 
are  books  and  magazines,  and  vases  of  flowers  on 
the  tables,  harmonious  draperies  at  the  windows, 
comfortable  chairs,  an  open  piano.  A  small  al 
cove  hung  with  red  curtains  is  on  one  side.  The 
curtains  are  open  so  that  a  luxurious  couch  with 
cushions  may  be  seen,  a  becoming  background  for 
the  Mistress  of  the  house. 

Into  this  cosy  scene  a  woman  enters  quickly. 
She  is  MRS.  BARSTABLE.  She  is  good  looking, 
well  groomed,  pale  and  tense.  One  can  see  plainly 
that  she  is  on  the  verge  of  collapse.  She  makes  a 
tremendous  effort  and  succeeds  in  recovering  some 
of  her  self-control,  as  the  NURSE  enters. 

53 


54  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

NURSE 
Mr.  Barstable  is  asking  for  an  extra  pillow. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(Indicating  the  couch  in  the  alcove) 

You  may  take  one  of  those  silk  ones.  Oh, 
Nurse,  when  the  doctors  come  out  of  Mr.  Bar- 
stable's  room,  show  them  in  here  where  they  can 
be  alone.  I'll  see  them  after  the  consultation. 

NURSE 
They're  coming  right  out  now. 

(The  NURSE  exits.  MRS.  BARSTABLE 
moves  to  the  table,  takes  a  pistol  from  the 
drawer,  and,  listening  all  the  time  for  the 
coming  of  the  doctors,  places  it  somewhere 
out  of  sight.  There  is  a  sound  of  voices 
outside.  She  quickly  crosses  to  the  red 
curtains  and  conceals  herself  behind  them 
as  DR.  WALKER  and  DR.  CARTWRIGHT 
enter.) 

DR.  WALKER 

(In  a  low  voice,  with  visible  concern,  as  though 
continuing  a  conversation) 

Nothing  to  be  done,  eh? 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 
Nothing. 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  55 

DR.  WALKER 
And  everything  to  be  feared? 

(DR.  CARTWRIGHT  nods  gravely.) 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 

(After  a  pause) 
Has  he  a  family? 

DR.  WALKER 

Just  the  wife,  who  adores  him.  They  were 
such  pals.  I've  known  him  all  my  life.  I'm 
much  more  his  friend  than  his  doctor,  you  under 
stand.  Why  we've  lived  in  the  same  house  for 
twenty  years.  I've  the  key  to  their  front  door: 
their  home  is  mine.  (DR.  CARTWRIGHT  nods 
sympathetically.)  He  never  had  a  day's  illness, 
never  in  all  the  years  I've  known  him.  Frightful ! 
A  man  of  his  physique!  Such  an  end!  His 
poor  wife !  What  shall  I  tell  her !  When  she 
finds  out  that  it's  hopeless  — 
(Breaks  off  uneasily.) 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 

Oh,  she  won't;  she  needn't  know  for  a  time; 
not  till  — 

(Makes  a  hopeless  gesture.) 

DR.  WALKER 

He  had  a  horror  of  disease.     I've  heard  him 
say  he'd  kill  himself  if  ever  he  had  warning. 


56  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 

Oh,  that  was  when  he  was  sound  and  strong. 
You'll  find  an  entirely  different  man;  with  a  new 
philosophy.  The  hospitals  are  full  of  them: 
brave  fellows  —  heroes,  who'll  play  the  game  to 
the  end. 

DR.  WALKER 

If  only  those  cursed  Germans  had  killed  him 
outright!  Poor  Jack,  doomed  to  live  God  knows 
how  long!  Paralysed,  maimed,  helpless  — 

(Both  men  pull  up  sharply  and  look  to 
wards  the  curtains.  MRS.  BARSTABLE 
stands  in  front  of  them,  ashen.) 

DR.  WALKER 

(Uneasily) 

Jack  is  —  we  were  just  —  we  must  talk  things 
over  —  see  what's  best  to  be  done. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(Deadly  calm) 

I  know  —  I  heard. 

(She  sinks  into  a  chair  with  a  hopeless 
gesture.) 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 
(Uncomfortably) 
Too  bad. 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  57 

DR.  WALKER 

(Almost  irritably) 

Really  Ella,  we  should  have  told  you  in  due 
time. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(With  emphasis) 
What  it  was  good  for  me  to  know. 

DR.  WALKER 
Well,  well;  after  all  we  must  have  faith. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

(Interrupting  with  despairing  insistency) 
The  end  is  inevitable !     And  what  an  end ! 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 

Oh,  now  —  now  —  our  wounded  men  are  won 
derful!  Give  your  husband  time;  you'll  see;  time 
works  wonders.  Dr.  Walker  will  do  everything 
possible  and  I'll  see  you  again  in  a  few  days. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(Suddenly  springing  to  her  feet) 
Wait  —  wait  just  a  minute !     Wait !     I  have  a 
proposition  to  make  to  you.      (She  throws  back 
her  head  and  the  colour  rushes  to  her  cheeks.) 
Kill  him! 

(She  says  this  calmly ,  without  the  slight 
est  hint  of  hysteria.) 


^8  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 

(Gruffly) 

Nonsense;  nonsense;  you  shouldn't  upset  your 
self  in  this  way.  Be  brave,  brave  as  our  splendid 
boys. 

DR.  WALKER 

You're  overwrought,  Ella!  I  don't  wonder. 
I'm  going  to  give  you  and  Jack  something  to  make 
you  sleep ;  both  of  you  need  it. 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 
Yes,  yes. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
Eternally? 

DR.  WALKER 
(Almost  impatiently) 
Oh,  come  —  come ! 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 

You'll  find  that  your  husband  will  gradually  ac 
commodate  himself,  believe  me. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
Never! 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 
I  assure  you;  you'll  see. 

(Enter  the  NURSE  with  a  box  of  flowers.) 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  59 

NURSE 
Mr.  Barstable  is  asking  for  you,  madam. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

(Suddenly  regaining  control  of  herself) 

I'll  go  up. 

NURSE 
These  flowers  just  came. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(Quite  calmly) 

Arange  them  for  me,  please, —  here  in  one  of 
these  vases.  (Turning  to  doctors.)  Oh,  I'm 
all  right  now;  quite  calm,  quite  myself  again.  I 
know  it's  your  office  hour,  George.  (To  DR. 
WALKER.^  Don't  wait,  but  come  back.  You 
will,  won't  you? 

( The  NURSE  exits  with  the  vase,  leaving 
the  flowers  on  the  table.) 

DR.  WALKER 
Surely,  at  the  first  minute. 

(MRS.  BARSTABLE  exits.) 

DR.  CARTWRIGHT 

I  must  run  on  now.  If  you  need  me,  let  me 
know. 

(Both  men  leave  the  room  together  talk 
ing;  the  front  door  is  heard  to  shut,  as  the 


60  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

NURSE  returns  with  a  vase  of  water.  DR. 
WALKER  follows  her  into  the  room  almost 
immediately.) 

DR.  WALKER 

Now,  Nurse,  Mrs.  Barstable  is  naturally  much 
overwrought.  She  must  have  something  to  make 
her  sleep;  I'll  be  back  with  some  powders  for  her. 
(DR.  WALKER  exits  and  the  sound  of  the 
front  door  closing  again  is  heard.  The 
NURSE  left  alone  hums  as  she  arranges  the 
flowers.  She  is  still  busy  when  MRS.  BAR- 
STABLE  enters,  locking  the  door  behind  her, 
swiftly  and  softly.  She  is  completely  calm, 
but  in  the  few  minutes  she  has  been  out  of 
the  room  she  seems  to  have  aged  years.) 

NURSE 

(Holding  up  the  flowers  in  the  vase) 
Aren't  they  beautiful? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

(Distractedly) 
Yes  —  yes  — 

NURSE 
Shall  I  take  them  up  to  Mr.  Barstable? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
Presently. 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  61 

NURSE 
Is  he  alone? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
I  think  so. 

(Through  all  this  the  NURSE  keeps  look 
ing  at  MRS.  BARSTABLE  whose  manner 
seems  to  her  unusual,  to  say  the  least.) 

NURSE 
(Uneasily) 

I'll  go  up.  (Crosses  to  the  door  and  finds  it 
locked.)  What  does  this  mean !  Why  have  you 
locked  the  door? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

(Firmly) 
To  give  my  husband  a  chance. 

NURSE 
A  chance  at  what? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

(Dispassionately) 

To  get  out  of  it!  He's  doomed.  There's  no 
hope.  Sit  down.  (The  NURSE  recoils  horrified.) 
There's  no  use,  you  know.  There's  nothing  for 
you  to  do ;  you  can't  help  it.  You  might  as  well  be 
calm.  I've  promised  him  his  chance,  and  he's 
going  to  have  it. 


62  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

NURSE 
You  mean  — ?  that  you? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

Yes;  precisely.  (The  NURSE  tries  to  reach  the 
window.  MRS.  BARSTABLE  picks  up  the  pistol, 
which  she  has  concealed  for  just  this  emergency, 
resolutely.)  Sit  down.  When  I  am  ready  you 
may  leave  this  room;  not  before. 

NURSE 
My  God !    It's  murder ! 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(With  conviction) 

If  it  is,  it's  righteous  murder!  You'd  kill  an 
animal  if  it  were  suffering.  A  human  being  asks 
for  a  chance  and  you  won't  give  it  to  him  —  you 
with  your  medical  ethics!  It's  his  life;  he  has  a 
right  to  do  as  he  pleases  with  it. 

( The  NURSE,  by  this  time  completely  ter 
ror-stricken,  falls  Into  a  chair.) 

NURSE 
You're  mad! 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

I  never  was  more  sane  in  my  life,  and  neither 
was  he. 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  63 

NURSE 

He's  not;  he's  a  sick  man;  you've  no  right;  it's 
taking  advantage  of  him. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(Beginning  triumphantly,  and  ending  in  pitiable 

choking  sobs) 

I  gave  him  my  word,  and  I've  kept  it  as  he'd 
have  kept  his!  When  we  were  both  well  and 
strong  in  the  midst  of  health  and  beauty  —  happy, 
young,  free  —  we  made  a  solemn  compact.  It 
was  at  Aix  les  Bains,  at  the  Hotel  de  L'Europe. 
Oh,  we  had  such  pretty  rooms  there,  full  of  sun 
shine,  on  the  corner,  with  a  balcony,  and  a  view. 
Children  were  playing  under  our  windows;  colour, 
light,  happiness  everywhere.  It  had  been  rain 
ing;  the  air  was  full  of  the  scent  of  flowers.  Only 
to  be  alive  was  a  joy!  At  the  Casino  they  were 
playing  the  waltz  from  "  Romeo  and  Juliet." 
Great  Heaven,  it's  all  as  fresh  as  though  it  had 
happened  yesterday !  Suddenly  over  the  graveled 
walk  there  came  towards  us  in  a  wheel-chair  a 
pitiful,  doomed  creature  with  acute  senses  and  de 
formed  limbs  —  the  semblance  of  a  man ! 
Guarded  lest  he  might  get  his  chance  to  make  a 
decent  exit.  We  stood  looking  at  him.  My  hus 
band  exclaimed:  "  Why  do  they  keep  him  alive? 
Look  at  his  eyes!  He  wants  to  go!"  The 
man's  eyes  —  they  haunted  him.  "If  he  be- 


64  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

longed  to  me,  he'd  have  a  chance  to  get  out!  "  he 
said,  "  Poor  wretch;  condemned  to  die,  to  suffer 
without  hope,  while  specialists  consult,  while 
friends  pity  and  compare  notes.  May  the  Lord 
deliver  me  from  such  a  fate !  Promise  me,  Kate, 
that  you'll  give  me  my  chance.  It  may  be  upon 
me  before  I  suspect,  and  it's  hard  for  a  dying 
man  to  get  enough  of  the  right  stuff."  On  that 
day  we  solemnly  swore  that  if  such  a  fate  ever 
overtook  one  of  us  the  other  would  provide  the 
means  to  get  out.  Thank  God  I've  had  the  cour 
age  to  keep  my  word. 

NURSE 
(After  a  pause,  gently) 

But  now  —  now  —  how  do  you  know  your 
husband  doesn't  want  to  live? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

How  do  I  know?  My  husband?  Live  like 
that?  To  become  a  thing?  The  thing  they  said 
he  was  bound  to  be? 

NURSE 

(Desperately) 

What  you're  doing  is  a  crime!     It's  murder! 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
It's  a  gentleman's  death. 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  65 

NURSE 

(Under  stress  of  great  excitement) 
You  —  you  —  What    have    you    given    him  ? 
How  did  you  get  it? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(Almost  with  cunning) 

Ever  since  I  heard  Jack  was  wounded  I've  been 
collecting  it.  A  few  drops  here,  a  few  drops 
there;  for  my  suffering  dog;  for  an  aching  tooth; 
for  neuralgia;  half  a  bottle  in  all! 

NURSE 

(Seeing  a  ray  of  hope) 
It's  an  overdose  !     Thank  God ! 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

Oh,  no ;  I  know  the  dose !  I  poured  it  out  and 
placed  it  within  easy  reach  of  his  hand. 

NURSE 

(Still  clutching  at  a  straw) 
Oh,  then  there's  hope ! 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
Hope  of  what? 

NURSE 
You  didn't  give  it  to  him? 


66  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

No,  it  wasn't  necessary.  I  left  it  for  him  right 
at  his  hand. 

NURSE 
He  may  not  take  it. 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

Not  take  it?  If  ever  a  man  knew  what  he 
wanted  it  was  Jack  Barstable ! 

NURSE 
(Wildly) 

Yes,  before  —  before  !  But  not  now.  Since 
he's  been  over  there  and  seen  — 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

He  knew  exactly  what  I  meant  when  I  leaned 
over  him.  I  could  see  it  in  his  eyes!  I  placed 
the  bottle  beside  him,  with  a  glass  of  water,  in  case 
he  —  (Breaking  of  with  a  shudder.)  It's  bit 
ter  stuff,  I  know. 

NURSE 
(In  agony) 
How  could  you? 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 
(Now  quivering  and  barely  able  to  control 

herself) 
His  hand  clasped  mine  for  a  minute.     Then  I 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  67 

could   stand  it  no  longer!     I   fled  —  here  —  to 
you  —  so  that  he  might  be  free  —  free  — 

NURSE 
Let  me  go  to  him ! 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

Not  quite  yet;  I  know  my  Jack;  he  must  have 
time.  One  last  look  around  our  room  —  a  few 
minutes  to  think  —  to  pray.  My  picture  is  be 
side  him  on  the  little  table,  the  one  he  likes  best. 
He'll  touch  it  softly.  Then  —  he  may  not  be  able 
to  overcome  an  involuntary  shudder,  brave  as  he 
is  — 

NURSE 

Oh,  how  awful ! 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

He'll  have  a  spasm  of  pain,  perhaps  —  some 
nausea.  Then  deadly  cold  and  moist.  Then  un 
consciousness  —  blessed  unconsciousness. 

NURSE 
Let  me  go !     Open  the  door ! 

MRS.  BARSTABLE 

My  Jack  —  my  Jack  —  It's  done !     It's  done ! 
You  may  go  to  him  now !  Go  —  go  —  It's  over  — 
(She  throws  the  key  at  the  NURSE  who  un 
locks  the  door  and  dashes  from  the  room. 


68  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

MRS.  BARSTABLE  stands  listening  a  mo 
ment.  Then  she  takes  from  her  dress  a 
small  phial  and  swallows  the  contents  at 
one  gulp.  Her  hand  instinctively  goes 
out  to  JACK'S  picture  lying  on  the  table; 
clasping  it  to  her  she  gropes  her  way  of  to 
the  curtained  recess.  The  front  door  is 
heard  to  open  as  she  disappears.  And 
now  the  NURSE  is  seen  rushing  back 
through  the  hall.) 

NURSE 

(Speaking  outside  in  great  excitement) 
Oh,  Doctor  Walker !  Thank  God  you've 
come!  Such  a  scene!  (Then  the  voices  grow 
confused,  as  she  explains,  still  outside,  what  hap 
pened.)  Mrs.  Barstable  .  .  .  yes,  a  compact 
.  .  .  poison  .  .  .  she  left  the  bottle  .  .  .  within 
reach  of  his  hand  .  .  .  told  me  he  was  going  to 
kill  himself!  Oh,  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer. 
It's  awful!  I've  never  had  an  accident.  (The 
NURSE  begins  to  regain  her  equanimity  as  she  ap 
pears  at  the  door  with  DR.  WALKER.  They  enter 
the  room  together.)  But  he  didn't  —  he  didn't 
take  it!  Not  a  drop  passed  his  lips!  I'd  never 
have  forgiven  myself  if  anything  had  happened! 

DOCTOR 
But  nothing  did  happen,  thank  God! 


THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE  69 

NURSE 

No,  no;  he  actually  joked  with  me;  he  says  he's 
a  famous  patient;  he  wants  to  live. 

DOCTOR 
Bully  for  Jack!     Bully! 

NURSE 

I  don't  think  he  had  an  idea  of  what  was  in  the 
bottle !  He's  forgotten  the  compact  and  all  the 
rest  —  but  where  is  she  ?  Mrs.  Barstable  ? 

DOCTOR 
Why,  isn't  she  with  him  ? 

NURSE 
No,  she  was  here  !     I  thought  you  — 

DOCTOR 
No,  I  haven't  seen  her;  I  just  came  in. 

NURSE 
I  left  her  here. 

DOCTOR 

Perhaps  she —  (The  NURSE  gives  a  quick 
look  outside  and  comes  back  shaking  her  head.) 
Perhaps  the  maids  —  or  —  isn't  she  with  him? 

NURSE 
I  just  came  from  there !     No  —  no  — 


70  THE  SPARK  OF  LIFE 

(A  groan  or  sigh  comes  from  behind  the 
curtains.  The  DOCTOR  dashes  over  and 
flings  them  open  as  MRS.  BARSTABLE  rolls 
off  the  couch  to  the  floor.  He  kneels  be 
side  her;  listens;  looks  up;  shakes  his  head. 
She  is  dead.) 

NURSE 

And  he  —  he  is  alive !     He  wants  to  live !    He 
wants  to  see  it  through  to  the  end! 


CURTAIN. 


STRANGERS 


CHARACTERS 

A  WRITER 
A  CALLER 
A  WOMAN 


STRANGERS 

y|  LUXURIOUS  living  room  or  den  open- 
/ 1  ing  into  a  hall  which  leads  to  the  front 
^L.  JL.  door.  As  the  owner  of  it  happens  to  be  a 
successful  writer  it  is  equipped  with  a  commodious 
writing  desk  and  plenty  of  books,  besides  easy 
chairs,  harmonious  draperies  and  good  looking 
rugs.  A  table  set  with  sandwiches,  bottles, 
glasses,  etc.,  and  an  open  fire  add  an  air  of  ex 
pectancy  to  the  scene. 

Indeed  as  the  curtain  rises  two  men  are  enter- 
ing.  One  of  them  is  the  WRITER  himself,  a 
quiet,  receptive  person,  as  any  author  in  search  of 
material  may  be,  careful  of  his  own  wares  while 
graciously  attentive  to  the  display  of  those  in  other 
mental  store-houses.  The  other  is  a  CALLER, 
somewhat  too  rotund,  perhaps,  for  distinction,  but 
well  dressed  and  completely  at  ease:  a  glib  talker, 
not  at  all  awed  by  the  reticence  of  his  companion. 
On  the  contrary. 

CALLER 

If  I  may,  I'll  come  in  just  for  a  moment.  I 
remember  you  said  you  were  going  to  be  busy. 

73 


74  STRANGERS 

WRITER 
Yes,  presently,  when  I  get  at  it. 

(He  pushes  a  chair  invitingly  forward.) 

CALLER 

(Looking  around  with   interest,   taking   note   of 
things) 

So  this  is  your  home! 

WRITER 
(Crosses  to  desk  and  appears  to  be  rearranging 

everything  on  it) 

Well,  it's  a  place  where  I  can  lose  myself.  Com 
fortable,  with  all  the  conveniences,  and  no  one  to 
bother  me.  My  servant  goes  off  early,  I  sleep 
while  she  works  and  vice  versa.  She  leaves  me 
a  bite  here,  serves  my  breakfast  at  any  old  hour, 
disarranges  things  and  disappears. 

CALLER 

(Still  looking  about) 
The  scene  of  your  experiences? 

WRITER 

Yes,  I  never  go  around  in  search  of  material; 
I  don't  sit  on  park  benches  or  ride  about  in  sub 
ways  and  buses.  What  I  write  is  from  my  inner 
consciousness.  Though  tonight  I'll  confess  I'm 
at  my  wits'  end.  (He  crosses  to  table.)  A  glass 


STRANGERS  75 

of  cognac,  before  you  go !  It  may  give  me  a  new 
view  point;  I've  felt  all  day  as  though  I  were  look 
ing  at  a  blank  wall.  (Both  drink.)  In  front  of 
me  a  sheet  of  paper  to  be  covered  and  nothing  to 
cover  it  with.  We  get  that  way;  sometimes  it 
lasts  hours,  sometimes  days. 

CALLER 
What  I  envy  you  is  this  solitude. 

WRITER 

But  you,  you're  a  married  man?  (He  breaks 
off  with  a  question.  The  other  nods.)  Home, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing!  Children,  perhaps? 

CALLER 
(Who  is  now  comfortably  seated) 

Strange  how  we  club  acquaintances  know  noth 
ing  of  one  another.  We  meet  daily,  exhibit  pic 
tures  that  reveal  nothing,  tell  stories,  exchange 
views  that  are  impersonal,  drink  together,  eat  to 
gether,  and  there  it  ends.  Suddenly  we  pick  up  a 
paper  and  read  a  scandal,  a  death,  a  wedding,  and 
the  identity  of  our  club  friend  is  revealed. 
(Pause.)  What  a  shock,  poor  Egbert  Kelly,  eh? 
(Lighting  a  cigarette.) 

WRITER 
He  seemed  a  mild,  pleasant  fellow. 


76  STRANGERS 

CALLER 

He  used  to  appear  and  disappear  at  the  club 
like  any  of  the  rest  of  us,  always  gay,  generous, 
companionable,  and  all  the  time  this  burden  on  his 
soul.  Couldn't  make  both  ends  meet  and  none 
of  us  suspected.  Strangers  all  of  us,  under  one 
roof!  (Pause.)  You've  no  ties? 

WRITER 
No. 

CALLER 

Lucky  man  !  And  yet  I  only  want  to  be  untied 
to  tie  up  again.  You  may  think  it's  indelicate  my 
speaking  frankly  like  this  to  one  who  five  minutes 
ago  was  practically  a  stranger,  but  I  feel  tonight 
as  though  you  had  suddenly  been  revealed  to  me. 
These  rooms  of  yours  have  an  atmosphere,  they're 
human.  You  have  tastes.  Why  I  didn't  know 
you  were  a  writer  till  the  other  day.  I  mean  I 
didn't  know  you  were  the  Drayton.  You  see, 
honestly,  I've  never  read  you.  My  wife  attends 
to  that  end  of  things.  I've  seen  your  books  about 
on  the  tables,  together  with  the  magazines.  I'm 
not  much  of  a  reader.  She  sits  up  half  the  night 
with  a  book  in  her  hand.  I  often  find  her  when  I 
go  home,  late  —  early.  Till  now  I've  always 
gone  home. 


STRANGERS  77 

WRITER 
It's  got  to  that  stage,  has  it? 

CALLER 

Yes,  so  far,  and  no  distance  at  all.  My  wife  is 
one  of  those  domestic  creatures,  a  woman  of  no 
imagination,  content  in  the  present;  living  from 
day  to  day,  secure  in  her  happiness;  never  dream 
ing —  (He  pauses  as  though  words  were  in 
adequate.)  If  she  sees  me  restless  she  says  af 
fairs  down  town  have  been  going  badly  with  me; 
or  she  speaks  of  indigestion,  or  late  hours,  or 
sleepless  nights,  or  God  knows  what!  Oh,  I've 
heard  her  explain. me  over  and  over  to  the  others 
of  our  set  with  imaginations  as  limited  as  hers. 

WRITER 
(Dryly) 

It  must  be  gratifying  to  know  at  least  she's  not 
suspicious. 

CALLER 

As  to  that  I'm  not  sure.  Sometimes  I  wish  she 
understood.  Her  calmness,  her  security  exas 
perate  me.  She  knows  me  as  little  after  all  these 
years,  knows  as  little  of  my  life,  of  my  desires  and 
dreams  as  you  do,  you  who  until  tonight  have 
never  seen  me  outside  of  the  club. 


78  STRANGERS 

WRITER 

(Curiously) 

Is  it  possible  that  you  never  betray  yourself? 

CALLER 

Why,  yes,  I've  thought  I  did;  in  fact  there  have 
been  moments  when  I  didn't  care  whether  I  did 
or  not;  even  more,  when  I've  wanted  to,  to  have  it 
over,  to  have  her  know  me  as  I  am.  Imagine, 
I've  come  in  at  four,  at  five,  in  the  morning.  I've 
heard  her  voice  saying,  "  Been  to  the  club? 
Pleasant  evening?  "  And  when  I've  growled 
out,  "  Don't  know,  didn't  go  there,"  she's  turned 
over  and  gone  to  sleep. 
(Pause.) 

WRITER 

I  don't  want  to  make  myself  disagreeable,  but 
perhaps  she  may  have  grown  —  er  —  become  in 
different. 

CALLER 

Her  feelings  are  as  transparent  as  crystal.  She 
darns  my  socks  herself,  keeps  an  eye  on  my  clothes, 
orders  for  my  meals  the  dishes  she  thinks  I  like 
on  the  chance  I  may  come  home,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  No,  my  friend,  she  regards  her  posi 
tion  as  impregnable.  That's  what  I  can't  un 
derstand.  She's  perfectly  satisfied.  Not  a  hint 


STRANGERS  79 

of  the  mine  under  her  very  feet,  the  mine  that 
some  day  is  sure  to  explode. 
(Pause.) 

WRITER 

I  take  it,  she's  —  I  mean  you  have  nothing 
really  against  her? 

CALLER 

Oh,  Lord  no;  she's  absolutely  everything  she 
should  be.  She  hasn't  even  an  extravagance. 
She's  without  courage,  without  temptations,  with 
out —  well,  I  know  where  she  is  every  hour;  her 
life  is  an  open  page.  If  I  were  to  go  home  now 
I'd  find  her  in  our  perfectly  commonplace  sitting- 
room,  dozing  over  a  book.  Forgive  me  for  bor 
ing  you  with  the  same  old  story. 

WRITER 
It  has  a  new  turn,  always. 

CALLER 
(Explosively) 
The  woman  is  an  angel ! 

WRITER 

(Rather  amused) 
Not  your  wife  this  time ! 

CALLER 
Some  day  you  may  hear  about  me,  Eberle;  that 


8o  STRANGERS 

he,  that  I  —  well  that  Mrs.  Eberle  wants  a  di 
vorce.  At  all  events  you  won't  say — "Eberle, 
the  man  I  used  to  meet  at  the  club !  "  At  least 
I've  revealed  myself.  I  feel  better.  And  you  — 
well,  I  know  where  you  live ! 

(Breaking  off  with  a  smile.) 

WRITER 

Oh,  I !  —  I've  no  history.  I'm  given  over  to 
work.  Perhaps  some  day,  somewhere,  out  of 
heaven,  perhaps  —  who  knows  ? 

CALLER 
You're  going  to  work  all  night? 

WRITER 
I  hope  so,  if  I  can. 

CALLER 
I'm  off.     Thank  you,  and  Good-night. 

(The  WRITER  goes  with  him  out  into  the 
hall;  re-enters, —  leaving  the  door  half 
open.  He  disappears  into  an  adjoining 
room,  changes  his  coat  and  then  returns  to 
his  desk.  Suddenly  in  the  doorway  there 
appears  a  WOMAN.  At  the  first  glance,  she 
is  rather  insignificant.  One  would  pass 
her  in  the  street  for  instance  and  not  no 
tice  her  in  her  dark  clothes  and  small  hat. 
She  has  thrown  back  her  veil  but  none  the 


STRANGERS  8r 

less,  even  when  she  slips  in  and  closes  the 
door,  she  does  it  without  a  hint  of  bra 
vado.) 

WRITER 
(Sharply) 
What  is  it? 

WOMAN 
(Anxiously) 
I  —  please  don't  be  cross.     Let  me  tell  you  — 

WRITER 
(Interrupting) 
Yes,  yes,  what  is  it?     How  did  you  get  in  here? 

WOMAN 

I  just  slipped  in  out  of  the  street  as  the  door 
was  opened.     It's  cold  out. 
(Shivering.) 

WRITER 

Why,  yes,  but  you  musn't;  I'm  busy.  I  can't 
be  interrupted. 

WOMAN 
I  won't  interrupt.     I'll  be  very  quiet. 

WRITER 

No,  that  won't  do.  You  must  go.  You've  no 
right  to  come  into  people's  houses.  You  know 
that. 


82  STRANGERS 

WOMAN 

I  never  did  it  before!     But  tonight  it  seemed 
to  me  I  must. 

WRITER 
Now  look  here,  young  woman  — 

(He  begins  harshly,  but  she  looks  suddenly 
so  pathetic  that  he  breaks  off  and  offers  her 
money  instead.) 

WOMAN 

No,  no!     That  isn't  what  I  came  for!     I'm 
not  that  —  what  you  think. 

WRITER 
(Curiously) 
No? 

WOMAN 
No  —  I'm  cold  and  hungry. 

WRITER 

(Crosses  over  to  the  table  where  bottles  are;  stops 
just  as  he  is  going  to  offer  her  some  cognac) 
You  may  go  in  there,  in  the  kitchen,  and  make 
yourself  a  cup  of  tea.     There  are  sandwiches  on 
that  table.     You  may  have  some.     Then  you  must 
be  off. 

(The  WOMAN  exits  into  the  kitchen.  The 
WRITER  turns  again  to  the  table,  and  his 
papers.  She  returns  presently,  with  her 


STRANGERS  83 

teacup,  crosses  to  the  window  and  stands 
stirring  her  tea,  remarkably  like  a  lady.) 

WRITER 
I  thought  you  said  you  were  hungry. 

WOMAN 
I  am. 

WRITER 

Well  then,  why  don't  you  eat?     I  told  you  you 
might  have  a  sandwich. 

WOtylAN 

It  doesn't  always  mean  food,  hunger  doesn't. 
I'm  hungry  for  something  else. 

(She  looks  at  him  long  and  earnestly.) 

WRITER 

Nonsense,  you've  never  seen  me  before.     You 
can't  possibly  have  fallen  in  love  with  me. 

WOMAN 
I  didn't  say  I  had. 

WRITER 

(Somewhat  disconcerted) 
Oh! 

WOMAN 

Certainly  not.     Your  reasoning  is  perfectly  cor 
rect.     But  I  have  seen  you  before.     I've  seen  you 


84  STRANGERS 

—  well  I've  seen  you,  and  I've  read  you.     So  I 
know  you  a  little. 

WRITER 
Ah,  indeed! 

WOMAN 
Yes,  that's  one  reason  why  I'm  here  tonight. 

WRITER 
I  don't  understand. 

WOMAN 
I  thought  you  might  help  me. 

WRITER 
Then  you're  not  —  not  — 

WOMAN 

A  woman  of  the  street?  Of  course  not!  You 
know  better  than  that.  That  only  happens  in 
plays,  or  books.  Arnold  Bennett,  Haddon  Cham 
bers  —  you  —  Pinero  even !  Of  course  it's  not 
true. 

WRITER 

I  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't  be  as  true  as  this ! 
You  out  of  the  night  —  here  —  now  — 

WOMAN 

(Smiling  sweetly) 

Yes,  I'm  the  heroine  of  a  new  plot.  You  might 
like  it.  Or  are  plots  easy  to  find? 


STRANGERS  85 

WRITER 

No,  they're  damned  difficult  —  I  beg  your  par 
don. 

WOMAN 

(Easily) 
Oh,  in  the  circumstances  — 

WRITER 

(Suddenly  conscious  that  he  has  remained  seated) 
Sit  down,  won't  you  ? 

WOMAN 
You  don't  want  me  to  go  now? 

WRITER 

Why  no !  Not  if  you'll  stay.  I'd  like  to  hear 
your  story,  now  that  you're  here. 

WOMAN 
(Suddenly) 

Do  you  mind  if  I  open  the  window?  What 
with  the  smoke  and  all  that  it's  very  close.  (Be 
fore  he  can  answer  she  has  opened  it  and  is  stand 
ing  so  that  an  electric  light  shines  full  upon  her.) 
Look! 

(He  comes  up  behind  her.) 

WRITER 
What  is  it? 


86  STRANGERS 

WOMAN 

Oh,  nothing,  I  was  mistaken.  I  thought  —  it 
looked  like  a  fire.  My  nerves  are  a  bit  unstrung. 
I  see  things  tonight. 

(She    crosses    back    into    the    room.     He 
pulls  down  the  shade.) 

WRITER 
So  you  want  help  ? 

WOMAN 

Advice.  You've  seen  so  many  heroines 
through,  always  to  a  happy  end,  no  matter  how 
dreadful  their  beginnings,  no  matter  how  sordid 
their  rise.  I  thought  perhaps  — 

WRITER 

Well,  if  I  can  be  of  service.  You  realize,  of 
course,  that  anyone  can  begin  a  story  or  a  play. 
Anyone  can  write  a  first  act  or  a  first  chapter. 
But  when  it  comes  to  development,  to  the  work 
ing  out  of  a  conclusion  that  will  at  the  same  time 
satisfy  the  publisher  and  the  reader  — 
(He  pauses  for  the  right  word.) 

WOMAN 

(Sympathetically) 
And  one's  conscience  !     It  must  be  difficult. 


STRANGERS  87 

WRITER 

(Smiling  tolerantly) 
I'm  glad  you  understand. 

WOMAN 

If  I  begin  at  the  beginning  I  hope  it  won't  bore 
you. 

WRITER 
It  won't,  I'm  sure. 

WOMAN 

(She  is  sitting  now) 

Well,  then,  imagine  me  good  looking,  more  so 
than  I  am  now,  better  dressed,  more  careful  as  I 
look  back  at  it,  though  making  my  own  living. 
Oh,  I  wrote  too,  a  little,  so  you  see  I'm  sympa 
thetic  to  your  needs.  I  know  how  hard  it  is  to 
grind  out  enough  to  live.  Well,  my  evolution 
from  a  plain,  everyday,  very  tired  woman,  writing 
to  live,  was  simple, —  gradual,  of  course.  I 
didn't  fall  in  love  at  first  sight.  Neither  did  he. 
We  met  accidentally.  I  went  to  interview  him  for 
an  article  for  some  magazine.  He  was  most 
courteous,  told  me  all  I  wanted  to  know,  the 
details  of  his  rise,  which  had  been  electric.  No, 
you  understand  I'd  sooner  not  describe  him  too  ac 
curately.  You  can  fill  in  for  yourself;  make  him 
a  banker  or  railroad  man  or  broker,  it  makes  no 
difference.  He  was  very  much  in  the  limelight  at 


88  STRANGERS 

that  time.  Now  he's  not.  He  has  settled  down. 
Well,  that  was  the  beginning.  He  was  married 
and  I  became  —  (Slight  pause.)  the  other 
woman.  That  didn't  last  very  long.  I  mean  my 
anomalous  position. 

WRITER 

(Quickly) 
You  met  someone  else? 

WOMAN 
Not  at  all. 

WRITER 

You  grew  tired  of  each  other? 

WOMAN 
No,  on  the  contrary  we  kept  on  together. 

WRITER 
In  your  anomalous  position? 

WOMAN 
No,  his  wife  died.     I  took  her  place. 

WRITER 
He  married  you? 

WOMAN 
Yes. 


STRANGERS  89 

WRITER 

(Frankly  disappointed) 
Well,  well. 

WOMAN 

Not  so  very  unusual.  I'm  sorry.  (With  a  curl 
of  the  lips.)  I  appreciate  that  it's  scarcely  drama, 
but  it  is  a  fact.  She  died,  simply  died,  became  ill 
and  died,  the  way  people  do  every  day.  I  never 
met  her,  there  was  no  scandal,  no  gossip  even. 
She  died.  I  was  introduced  to  his  people,  his  set. 
We  were  married.  I  tried  to  live  up  to  his  stand 
ards;  I  say  "  up  "  for  I  was  supposed  to  have  risen 
with  my  marriage.  We  both  settled  down  to  the 
security  of  it.  He,  sure  of  me,  dead  sure.  Well, 
he  was  right.  I  have  a  great  deal  of  pride  and  a 
strong  sense  of  duty.  I  settled  down  to  be  like 
every  woman  I  saw,  every  woman  in  our  set,  his 
set  more  than  mine,  commonplace,  deadly  respect 
able,  prudent,  serene,  unimaginative,  virtuous, 
never  over-enthusiastic,  never  desperately  dis 
gusted.  Oh,  there  was  a  time  when  I  used  to  be 
both  in  the  same  minute !  Honest !  But  I  had 
outgrown  my  past,  I  actually  liked  that  humdrum, 
middle  class  set  and  I  thought  he  did.  I  should 
have  known  better  —  I  who  had  once  been  the 
other  woman!  Such  an  advantage  for  a  wife! 
And  I  neglected  it.  He  found  Paradise  monoto 
nous,  missed  his  little  serpent.  And  now  I  am 


90  STRANGERS 

the  wife,  the  stay  at  home,  not  so  young  as  she 
once  was,  deceived  wife.     Only  I'm  not  deceived. 

WRITER 
What  kind  of  a  woman  is  she? 

WOMAN 

She's  younger  than  I  am.  She  lives  alone, 
she  has  no  domestic  worries,  I  mean  servants, 
food,  and  things  like  that.  She's  on  a  higher 
plane.  She's  very  careful  of  her  background 
though.  It's  very  lovely,  made  up  of  becoming 
colours;  open  fire,  pink  lights  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  And  she  dotes  on  his  stories,  the  very  old 
est  of  them  isn't  too  old  for  her !  Then  she's  very 
dependent,  appealing,  very  much  in  need  of  pro 
tection.  He  loves  her  for  the  dangers  she  is  pass 
ing  through !  And  when  you  consider  they're  for 
him,  all  for  him!  Oh,  they've  been  through  a 
great  deal  together,  confronted  by  the  same  men 
ace  —  me ! 

WRITER 
(Really  interested) 

So  you've  met  her,  talked  to  her? 

WOMAN 
No,  no.      I  haven't  an  idea  who  she  is. 

WRITER 
But  I  thought  you  said  — 


STRANGERS  91 

WOMAN 

(Almost  impatiently) 

Oh,  they're  all  alike  in  essentials.  I  know  she 
exists;  the  rest  follows.  (After  a  slight  pause 
she  resumes  reflectively.)  Of  course  I  could  find 
her  somehow,  entreat  her  to  give  him  up,  win  her 
sympathy,  and  return  home.  You  remember  that 
scene  of  Leonard  Merrick's  in  the  "  Bishop's 
Comedy  "  ?  Adorable,  isn't  it !  But  that  isn't  for 
all  wives.  It  takes  a  certain  kind  of  woman  and 
a  certain  kind  of  man.  Or  I  might  die.  But  a 
husband  doesn't  have  that  kind  of  luck  twice.  Do 
you  begin  to  see  why  I  want  your  help  ? 

WRITER 

(Almost  reproachfully) 

Well,  it's  not  exactly  a  new  plot,  is  it?  It's 
always  interesting,  of  course. 

WOMAN 
Give  it  time  —  it  may  take  a  new  turn. 

(He  looks  at  her  doubtfully.  Just  then 
there  is  a  knock  at  the  door.  His  look 
changes  to  one  of  consternation.) 

WOMAN 

(Quickly;  completely  mistress  of  the  situation) 
I'll  go  back  and  make  some  more  tea. 

(She   disappears    into    the   kitchen.      The 


92  STRANGERS 

WRITER  opens  the  door  and  the  CALLER 
enters.) 

CALLER 

I  beg  your  pardon,  but  did  I  —  er  —  drop  my 
glove  here?  I  hope  I'm  not  interrupting  — 
your  work. 

WRITER 

Why,  I  was  just  trying  —  your  glove  ?     No,  I 
haven't    seen   it.     What    colour   was   it?     (The 
CALLER  dangles  a  tan-coloured  glove  in 
his  face,)     Oh,  I  see  —  no  — 

CALLER 
I  —  your  servant  couldn't  have  carried  it  out? 

WRITER 
I  have  no  servant;  no  one  here  at  night. 

CALLER 

Yes,  to  be  sure.  I  remember  you  said  so.  Per 
haps  in  the  other  room  —  you  might  have  carried 
it  in  there. 

WRITER 

No.     I  haven't  been  out  of  this  room. 

CALLER 
I  must  have  been  mistaken. 


STRANGERS  93 

WRITER 

Yes.  I  fear  so.  If  it  should  turn  up  —  but 
I'm  sure  it  isn't  here.  (There  is  a  loud  clash  from 
the  kitchen.  An  awkward  pause  follows.)  The 
partitions  are  so  thin,  one  can  hear  every  sound. 
A  maid  may  have  come  in. 

CALLER 

I  should  think  it  would  disturb  you, —  I  mean 
the  thin  partitions,  the  noise. 

WRITER 
(He  doesn't  actually  say,  "  Must  you  go?  "    But 

he  looks  it) 

One  gets  accustomed  to  anything.  Sorry  about 
the  glove.  Hope  you'll  find  it 

CALLER 

Oh,  it  doesn't  matter  —  just  thought  perhaps 
• —  Pardon  the  intrusion.  Good-night ! 

(He  exits.      The  WRITER  quickly   closes 
the  door.     The  WOMAN  re-enters.) 

WRITER 
What  in  thunder  did  you  do  that  for? 

WOMAN 
What? 

WRITER 
That  clatter  out  there ! 


94  STRANGERS 

WOMAN 
I  didn't  break  anything. 

WRITER 

Oh,  that's  not  it !  Here  I  am,  wasting  my  time, 
getting  out  of  the  writing  mood,  disturbed  — 
annoyed —  (The  WOMAN  crosses  to  the  win 
dow  and  raises  the  blind.)  What  the  devil! 
Come  away  from  that  window ! 

WOMAN 
Why? 

WRITER 
Because  —  come  away  I  say! 

(He  goes  toward  her,  intent  upon  getting 
between  her  and  the  window.  Suddenly, 
without  warning  and  without  provocation, 
she  puts  her  hand  on  his  arm.) 

WRITER 
(Indignantly) 

What  are  you  doing?     Why  —  you  mustn't! 
(She    comes    away    from     the    window, 
smiling  as  though  completely  satisfied.) 

WOMAN 
That's  all !     He  has  seen ! 

WRITER 
Who?     What? 


STRANGERS  95 

WOMAN 

My  husband.  I  promised  you  something  new. 
That  man,  your  visitor,  was  my  husband.  I'm 
just  a  wife  trying  a  new  stunt.  You  see  I  fol 
lowed  you  both  into  the  house.  I  waited,  hidden 
in  the  hall,  for  him  to  go  out.  He  saw  me,  I  made 
sure  of  that.  I  had  on  a  heavy  veil,  but  my  figure 
was  familiar.  He  couldn't  believe  his  eyes.  I 
tried  to  appear  as  at  home  in  the  house  as  I  could, 
I  walked  quickly  as  though  I  knew  where  I  was 
going.  Luckily  this  door  was  open.  I  came  in  as 
though  I  had  been  here  before.  He  waited  out 
side  in  —  oh,  I  hope  it  was  what  one  might  call  an 
agony  of  impatience !  Then  he  came  back.  You 
and  I  did  the  rest.  He  thinks  —  he  thinks  — 

WRITER 
Good  God ! 

WOMAN 

I'm  very  grateful  to  you.  But  after  all  you've 
something  to  thank  me  for.  I've  given  you  a  plot ; 
you  know  you  hadn't  a  story  in  your  head! 

WRITER 

(Succumbing  for  the  moment  to  the  interest  of  the 
occasion) 

But  what's  the  end?     How  does  it  end? 


96  STRANGERS 

WOMAN 

That's  your  business.  That's  what  I  came  here 
to  get  from  you. 

WRITER 

(Uncomfortably) 
But  I  shall  have  to  tell  him  — 

WOMAN 

Never!  You  wouldn't  do  that!  Oh,  you 
wouldn't! 

WRITER 
But  he'll  think  —  why,  that  I  — 

WOMAN 

What's  the  difference  what  he  thinks?  He 
wouldn't  believe  you  anyway.  You  see  you  did 
deny  my  being  here,  you  did  help  me  to  hide. 

WRITER 
(Sullenly) 
You  hid  yourself. 

WOMAN 

Why,  he  knows  me  so  well  that  he  would  never 
in  the  world  believe  that  I  would  come  here  in 
spite  of  you.  I  want  him  back,  not  because  I'm 
madly  in  love  with  him,  but  because  I  should  be 
such  a  miserable  failure  if  I  couldn't  keep  him, 
and  with  my  advantages  too  —  the  halo  of  having 
once  been  that  woman,  the  other  one!  You  see 


STRANGERS  97 

this  will  show  him,  that  I  still  have  undiscovered 
depths  not  dreamed  of  by  him,  though  we  live  in 
the  same  house.  As  for  you,  it  isn't  your  life. 
You're  only  an  acquaintance.  He'll  shun  you 
perhaps.  What  of  it?  I'm  the  one  that  counts. 
He'll  find  he  owns  something  someone  else  covets. 
I'll  be  worth  guarding.  Either  that  or  —  you're 
thinking  he  may  divorce  me.  Well,  that's  better 
than  the  other,  than  failure  to  keep  him,  just  dull 
humdrum,  middle  class  failure.  Only  it's  going 
to  be  tiresome  keeping  it  up,  for  you  I  mean.  I'll 
have  to  come  here  occasionally  for  a  time. 

WRITER 
I  shall  move  away! 

WOMAN 

(With  genuine  enthusiasm) 
Oh,  if  you  would!     If  you'd  go  away,  break 
it   off,   because    I  —  I  —  leave   the   rest   to   me ! 
Good-night!      My  husband  is  waiting  outside. 

WRITER 

I  wonder  if  he  is!  (The  WOMAN  disappears 
quickly.  He  goes  to  the  window  and  stands 
straining  to  see.)  By  Jove ! 

(He  starts  forward  eagerly  and  we  leave 
him  looking  out  into  the  darkness  as  the 
curtain  falls.) 


MAKING  A  MAN 


CHARACTERS 

GUY  PARKER 
DR.  FELDER 
MRS.  GUY  PARKER 
MAGGIE 


MAKING  A  MAN 

>j  ROOM  in  the  home  of  GUY  PARKER,  an 
/ 1  artist  with  pictures  to  sell.  He  is  over 
-^  X.  eighteen  and  under  forty-five.  He  cant 
conscientiously  swear  that  he  is  the  sole  support  of 
his  little  family,  a  wife  and  boy,  because  he  isn't. 
They  could  not  live  even  on  the  wrong  side  of 
Washington  Square,  if  MRS.  PARKER'S  father 
hadn't  happened  to  be  rich  enough  to  leave  her  an 
income.  In  normal  times  no  husband  would  com 
plain  of  such  forethought,  but  when  this  play  opens 
it  happens  to  be  October  of  the  year  1918,  when 
examining  and  exemption  boards  were  working 
overtime. 

The  room,  a  sort  of  literary  den,  is  comfortable 
enough,  but  the  owner  of  it,  GUY  PARKER,  is  vis 
ibly  disturbed,  uncomfortable,  shivery,  pale  or 
yellow  as  the  case  may  be.  He  comes  in  furtively, 
glad  to  find  the  place  empty,  and  yet  irritated  that 
no  one  is  there  to  welcome  him.  It  is  plain  that 
things  are  all  wrong  with  him.  Alone,  he  doesn't 
hesitate  to  confess  it.  He  crosses  over  to  the 
mirror,  looks  at  himself  in  disgust  and  is  even 
heard  to  mutter  a  contemptuous  "  bah."  One 

101 


102  MAKING  A  MAN 

feels  as  though  he  would  like  to  obliterate  his  re 
flection,  yet  he  is  not  bad-looking.  On  the  con 
trary  if  he  didn't  look  ill  —  but  he  is  ill  and  no  mis 
take.  He  sinks  into  a  chair  but  he  can't  rest. 
Scarcely  is  he  down,  when  he  is  up  again.  He 
crosses  to  a  side  table  and  pours  himself  out  a 
glass  of  brandy,  swallows  it  at  a  gulp,  buries  his 
face  in  his  hands,  and  then  looks  up  startled,  as 
some  one  enters.  It  is  only  the  maid  of  all  work, 
MAGGIE,  who  has  come  in  to  look  for  WILLIE'S 
flag. 

MAGGIE 

Willie  wants  his  flag,   sir. 

PARKER 

Flag  —  flag —  (The  word  annoys  PARKER 
beyond  understanding.  He  jumps  to  his  feet.) 
What  the  devil  is  the  flag  doing  in  here?  (It  is 
the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and  he  finds  he  has  been 
sitting  on  it.  He  drops  it  as  though  it  burnt  his 
fngers.  Then,  rather  ashamed  of  himself,  he 
quiets  down  muttering.)  This  isn't  the  place  for 
it.  The  nursery  is  the  place ;  toys  everywhere ! 
Where  in  thunder  is  everybody  anyway?  The 
place  is  like  a  tomb.  (He  shivers,  throws  open 
the  window  and  lets  in  the  sound  of  an  organ 
grinding  out  "  The  Star  Spangled  Banner."  He 
bangs  the  window  down,  cursing  the  noise  under 
his  breath.)  Where  is  Mrs.  Parker? 


MAKING  A  M'AN  103 

MAGGIE 

The  ladies  do  be  playing  cards  in  the  parlour. 
My,  but  you  look  sick,  sir.  Anything  I  can  do? 

PARKER 

Sick?  I  should  say  so.  (Grunts  almost  as 
though  she  were  responsible.)  I've  sent  for  the 
doctor,  Doctor  Felder.  When  he  comes  show  him 
right  in  here. 

MAGGIE 
(Hesitating) 
Shall  I  tell  Mrs.  Parker? 

PARKER 

No ;  no ;  I  don't  want  to  see  anyone.  (Irritably 
after  a  pause.)  How  many  are  there  in  there? 

MAGGIE 
Oh,  only  four.     There's  Mrs.  Beale  and  — 

PARKER 

(Cutting  her  of  short) 

I  know  —  I  know  —  I  don't  want  them  in  here. 
Don't  let  them  know  I'm  home.  Where's  Willie  ? 

MAGGIE 

He  took  sick  sir;  he's  in  there,  in  bed.  (In 
dicating  a  room  beyond.)  And  please,  sir,  he 
keeps  asking  if  you're  a  soldier. 


io4  MAKING  A  MAN 

PARKER 
(Sharply) 
What? 

MAGGIE 

A  dozen  times  this  day  he  has  said:  "  My 
father's  going  to  be  a  soldier !  "  If  you'd  see 
him,  sir,  and  tell  him  — 

PARKER 

(With  growing  irritability) 
No ;  no :  I'm  sick;  I  can't  see  him. 

MAGGIE 

Well,  I  won't  tell  him  you're  in  yet;  he  doesn't 
know. 

PARKER 

(Trying  to  pull  himself  together) 
What's  the  matter  with  him? 

MAGGIE 
It's  his  stomick,  sir. 

PARKER 

Something  he's  eaten !  He's  always  eating 
something!  Can't  anyone  look  after  that  child? 

MAGGIE 
He's  better  now,  sir;  much  quieter. 

(PARKER  grunts.     All  through  this  there 
has  been  a  noise  upstairs  as  of  children 


MAKING  A  MAN  105 

running,  growing  louder  and  louder.  The 
apartment  is  a  humble  one  and  the  sounds 
from  everywhere  trickle  through  as  surely 
as  the  doors  creak  and  the  windows  stick. 
Suddenly  there  is  a  scream,  the  noise  of  an 
opening  door,  and  a  rush  through  the 
hall.) 

PARKER 

(Losing  control  again) 
What's  that? 

MAGGIE 

The  children  upstairs!  (The  sound  of 
"  Yankee  Doodle  "  and  the  children  marching  to 
it  floats  through  the  room,  and  then  a  band  is 
heard  in  the  street.)  It's  the  army!  If  Willie 
hears  them  he'll  be  out  of  bed  in  a  minute ! 

(With  that,  MAGGIE,  much  excited,  dashes 
out  as  she  came  in,  flag  in  hand.  PARKER 
closes  the  door  and  even  draws  a  curtain, 
trying  to  shut  out  the  noise.  Then  he 
sinks  into  a  chair,  grabs  up  a  couple  of 
cushions  and  covers  his  ears  with  them. 
Upon  this  scene,  DR.  FELDER  is  shown. 
He  is  German,  of  course,  a  German-Amer 
ican.  He  is  pompous  and  important,  but 
the  German  part  of  him  is  only  faintly 
indicated  or  PARKER  might  have  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  him.) 


106  MAKING  A  MAN 

FELDER 

Well,  I  got  your  message.  You  feel  not  so 
good,  eh?  Well,  that  was  to  be  expected.  (He 
takes  of  his  coat  and  lays  down  his  hat.)  Such  a 
difficulty  to  get  here !  Twenty  soldiers  passed  by; 
twenty!  And  the  streets  are  blocked;  everyone 
stands  to  cheer  them!  Disgusting!  The  city 
should  see  to  it  that  the  comfort  of  its  people  is 
not  interfered  with.  I  have  been  pushed  and 
mauled.  Is  the  soldier  such  an  extraordinary 
sight?  Twenty  soldiers  and  twenty  raw  recruits, 
and  everyone  stops  to  look!  You  should  see 
them  —  poor  devils,  each  with  a  bundle;  cannon 
food  for  Germany,  bah ! 

(Throughout  this  PARKER  shrinks  nerv 
ously,  completely  broken  down,  ashamed, 
sullen.) 

PARKER 

Don't  be  so  sure  —  America  is  going  to  win  this 
war! 

FELDER 

Well,  we  can't  tell;  perhaps!  I  live  in  Amer 
ica.  I  practise  here.  I  get  my  living  here. 
Naturally,  T  hope  —  but  I  only  say  we  can't  tell. 
( He  says  this  with  unction  while  every  word  cuts 
like  a  lash.)  Meanwhile  I  help  you  to  stay  home, 
out  of  it  all;  out  of  all  that  wretchedness  and  filth. 


MAKING  A  MAN  107 

PARKER 
Well  you  needn't  rub  it  in. 

FELDER 

Why  not?  Why  not?  You  got  a  wife  and 
child;  not  so  ?  Why  should  you  go  ?  No,  it's  not 
fair,  I  say,  to  ask  a  man  to  give  up  his  work  to 
go  out  and  get  shot  because  —  just  because  a  few 
Americans  want  war. 

PARKER 
(Utterly  wretched) 

A  few  ?  All  —  all !  Banners  —  flags  —  khaki 
everywhere. 

FELDER 

No ;  not  so !  I  can  give  you  names  of  doctors 
working  like  me  to  save  men  from  the  draft;  men 
willing  to  be  saved.  There  is  Dr.  Bayer,  Dr. 
Schultz;  oh,  there  are  many! 

PARKER 
Really?     Ready  to  help  wretches  like  me? 

FELDER 

Now,  now,  now.  A  man  has  as  much  duty  to 
stay  home  as  to  go.  That's  what  I  tell  them  all. 
Out  there  —  what?  Not  one  in  fifty  comes  back. 
Oh,  the  German  knows  how  to  shoot ! 


io8  MAKING  A  MAN 

PARKER 
(Ugly) 
So  does  the  American !     He's  proving  it. 

FELDER 

Well  I  didn't  say  he  wasn't.  I  said  the  German 
was  a  good  shot;  that's  all.  When  he  has  fin 
ished  with  Europe  — 

PARKER 

(Interrupting  with  temper) 
There  you  go  again ! 

FELDER 

Well,  when  Europe  has  finished  with  him.  It's 
all  the  same.  My,  but  you  pick  me  up !  When 
does  your  examination  begin? 

PARKER 

(Disconsolately) 
I've  been  today. 

FELDER 

So!  They  reject  you,  hein?  What  did  I 
promise,  hein?  (The  doctor  walks  up  and  down 
the  room  chuckling.)  You  see,  American  doctors 
haven't  had  our  education;  over  here  they  don't 
know  everything.  If  only  I  could  spread  the 
knowledge  of  what  that  little  drug  I  gave  you  will 
accomplish,  you  would  see  some  very  startling 


MAKING  A  MAN  109 

things.  By  it  the  heart  is  affected,  quickly,  ma 
terially.  Oh,  do  not  be  afraid.  I  shall  have  you 
all  right  in  a  couple  of  days.  What  did  they  ask 
you  —  the  doctors?  Eh? 

PARKER 

It  was  very  simple.  I  filled  out  my  papers 
some  time  ago.  They  examined  my  heart  the 
first  thing;  asked  me  how  long  I  had  been  aware 
I  had  heart  trouble;  asked  me  if  I  had  taken  any 
thing  — 

FELDER 
(Quickly) 
Of  course  you  said  not. 

PARKER 
(Bitterly) 

Of  course.  There  was  a  big  American  flag 
hanging  in  front  of  my  eyes.  I  looked  at  it,  and 
lied.  They  asked  about  my  family,  my  life.  I 
told  them  I  had  always  had  heart  trouble.  I 
said  what  you  told  me  to  —  God,  how  I  despised 
myself!  They  told  me  to  report  again  Friday. 
A  fellow  came  out  as  I  went  in.  He  said  they  had 
rejected  him  on  account  of  his  teeth;  five  miss 
ing — 

FELDER 
(Calmly) 
Yes,  yes.     The  dentist  can  accomplish  a  great 


no  MAKING  A  MAN 

deal  but  so  few  dentists  are  doing  it.  Some  sur 
geons  have  done  well,  but  that  takes  courage.  A 
finger  must  be  sacrificed;  or  the  hearing,  or  the 
eyes  tampered  with.  My  way  is  best. 

PARKER 
(With  unutterable  loathing) 

For  cowards  like  me  1     Cowards  all  of  us  — 
cowards !         , 

FELDER 
(With  a  judicial  air) 

I  deny  that  these  men  are  cowards.  They  have 
conscientious  scruples  and  rightly.  There  are  not 
so  many  as  one  would  expect.  We  have  been 
surprised  how  few,  but  if  men  like  you  who  have 
been  successful  would  go  out  and  tell  the  others. 
If  you  would  whisper  to  this  one  or  that  what  can 
be  done  for  such  a  trifling  cost;  without  of  course 
mentioning  my  name;  and  you  can  assure  them 
that  it  is  safe,  perfectly  safe.  What  I  want  is  to 
build  up,  to  spread  this  knowledge.  It  is  a  kind 
ness.  The  more  men  you  keep  from  the  army, 
the  sooner  this  war  ends. 

PARKER 

(Fiercely) 
Ends  ?     But  what  way  —  ends  ? 


MAKING  A  MAN  in 

FELDER 
(Soothingly) 

Well,  well,  it  ends.  What  is  the  difference 
how?  We  have  prosperity  again;  and  life.  You 
sell  your  works.  Your  stocks  are  up  again.  And 
what  I  propose  is  absolutely  safe.  American  doc 
tors,  I  mean,  you  know,  doctors  who  haven't  had 
the  advantage  of  education  at  some  German 
clinic  —  (Breaking  of  suddenly  in  his  enthusi 
asm.)  I  ask  you  are  there  any  greater  doctors 
in  the  world  than  those  of  Germany?  No,  no. 
American  doctors  have  doubtless  never  even  heard 
of  those  little  drops  in  that  bottle  I  gave  you  to 
make  you  safe,  to  keep  you  out  of  the  draft. 
Now  I  want  you  to  take  something  to  set  you  up 
again  where  you  were  before  America  became  war 
mad. 

PARKER 
(Sullenly) 

They  gave  me  something  over  there. 

FELDER 
(Disturbed) 
So? 

PARKER 
They  told  me  to  take  it  and  come  back. 

FELDER 
Let  me  see  it.      (PARKER  hands  him  a  small 


ii2  MAKING  A  MAN 

phial.  The  doctor  holds  it  to  the  light,  smells  ity 
tastes  it  and  mutters  uneasily.}  The  antidote! 
(Anxiously.)  When  are  you  to  go  back? 

PARKER 

Tomorrow. 

FELDER 

They  suspect  something !      Strange  how  Amer 
icans  are  always  suspicious! 

(At  this  moment  MAGGIE  appears  at  the 
door  in  great  excitement.) 

MAGGIE 

Excuse  me,   sir,  but  Willie  looks  awful  bad! 
He  doesn't  answer  me  when  I  speak  to  him. 

PARKER 

Willie? 

MAGGIE 

I  wish  you'd  come  in;  he's  never  been  this  way. 

PARKER 

(Calmly ,  thinking  of  course  the  maid  exaggerates) 
Excuse  me  a  minute,  doctor.  (He  follows 
MAGGIE  out  of  the  room.  In  his  absence,  which 
lasts  just  a  second,  FELDER  puts  on  his  coat  and 
picks  up  his  hat.  PARKER  returns,  frightened, 
holding  the  door  open  behind  him.)  I  can't  rouse 
him !  For  God's  sake  have  a  look  at  him !  He's 
all  we  have !  This  way,  Doctor. 


MAKING  A  MAN  113 

(FELDER  rips  off  his  coat  and  disappears 
with  PARKER  who  now  hovers  between 
what  appears  to  be  the  bedroom  and  the 
den.  MRS.  PARKER,  whom  MAGGIE  has 
summoned,  enters  hurriedly,  leaving  the 
lower  door  open,  so  that  sounds  of  jollity 
are  heard  from  the  card  players  behind 
it.) 

MRS.  PARKER 
What  is  it? 

PARKER 

Billy!     He  doesn't  answer  me.     I  can't  make 
it  out ! 

MRS.  PARKER 

He's    been    complaining    all    day.     Something 
disagreed  with  him. 

PARKER 

The  doctor  happened  to  be  here,  Dr.  Felder. 
He's  gone  in. 

MRS.  PARKER 
What  did  he  say? 

PARKER 
He  hasn't  come  out  yet;  I  don't  know. 

MRS.  PARKER 
(Afraid  now  to  go  in) 
Do  you  hear  anything? 


ii4  MAKING  A  MAN 

PARKER 
No. 

MRS.  PARKER 
Where's  Maggie? 

PARKER 

In  there;  in  there  with  the  doctor. 

(There  is  a  burst  of  merriment  from  the 
bridge  party,  at  its  height  when  MAGGIE 
comes  back  into  the  room  crying.) 

MRS.  PARKER 
(In  terror) 

What  is  it?     For  God's  sake ! 

(MRS.  PARKER  rushes  out  past  her  as 
FELDER  returns.  He  looks  at  PARKER; 
shrugs  his  shoulders  and  moves  towards 
his  coat  as  though  he'd  like  to  be  of.) 

PARKER 

(Apparently  dazed) 
Doctor? 

FELDER 

Nothing.     I  can  do ;  nothing.     Too  late  —  the 
heart.     Perhaps  if  I  had  been  called  in  earlier  — 

PARKER 
You  don't  mean? 


MAKING  A  MAN  115 

(MRS.  PARKER  is  heard  sobbing  outside 
before  she  enters.) 

MRS.  PARKER 

Doctor  —  doctor  —  can't    you    do    anything? 
What  does  it  mean? 

PARKER 
The  doctor  says  his  heart  — 

MRS.  PARKER 

(Trying  to  control  her  voice) 
He  complained  of  his  stomach  —  I  gave  him 
something   for   indigestion.     Oh,   where    is   that 
stuff?     Maggie  —  the  bottle —     (Appealing  to 
doctor.)     Oh,  can't  you  do  anything? 

MAGGIE 
(Between  her  sobs) 

Here's  the  medicine  !     It  was  out  of  this  bottle. 
(FELDER  takes  it.) 

MRS.  PARKER 

My  husband's  medicine  for  indigestion.     Billy 
—  Billy  — 

(With  a  prolonged  wail  MRS.  PARKER 
dashes  out  of  the  room  followed  by 
MAGGIE.  DR.  FELDER  and  PARKER  are 
left  facing  each  other.  The  card  play- 
ers  are  heard  again  laughing  loudly. 


n6  MAKING  A  MAN 

DR.  FELDER  bangs  the  door  sharply  upon 
them.  Then  it  is  seen  that  he  is  beside 
himself  with  terror.  Holding  up  the  bot 
tle  in  one  trembling  hand  he  turns  upon 
PARKER.) 

FELDER 

Man  —  man  —  you  verdamter  idiot  you  ! 
You  leave  this  about!  You  —  you've  killed  your 
child ! 

PARKER 

(Also  beside  himself,  but  now  as  much  with  rage 

as  with  grief.) 

I?  I?  You  damned  old  German  scoundrel! 
You  dare !  You  —  you  — 

FELDER 
Calm  now,  calm  — 

PARKER 
You  accuse  me?     You? 

FELDER 

(In  great  agitation) 
We  must  get  rid  of  this  bottle. 

PARKER 
Oh,  that's  your  game,  is  it? 


MAKING  A  MAN  117 

FELDER 

Well,  isn't  it  yours?     Don't  be  a  fool! 
(Grabs  up  his  coat  again.) 

PARKER 

You  think  you're  going  to  get  away? 
(Stands  in  front  of  door.) 

FELDER 

If  I  don't  get  away,  what's  going  to  become  of 
you,  eh?  Come  to  your  senses,  man!  Let  me 
out!  Are  you  mad?  It's  easy  enough  to  fool  the 
coroner.  Let  me  out. 

PARKER 

(With  bitter  scorn) 
So  that  you  can  help  other  cowards  like  me. 

FELDER 

(Beginning  to  cringe) 

I  tell  you  I'll  put  you  back  in  shape  if  only  you 
give  me  time. 

PARKER 

(With  sudden  fierce  resolution) 
Time?     Time!     That's  what  you're  going  to 
get!     You've  killed  my  boy! 

FELDER 

Good  God,  you'll  have  the  neighbours  in  here 
in  a  minute. 


n8  MAKING  A  MAN 

PARKER 

(Quietly) 

Yes  and  the  police.  It's  the  finger  of  God, 
Felder! 

FELDER 
Tomorrow  you'll  curse  yourself! 

PARKER 

Today  we're  going  to  face  the  music,  Felder. 
( The  desperate  calm  of  PARKER  frightens 
the  doctor  more  and  more.) 

FELDER 
(In  a  hoarse  whisper) 

Look,  if  you  keep  your  mouth  shut,  I'll  save 
you.  Germany  is  back  of  this.  For  every  man 
I  keep  out  of  the  draft  I  get  money,  big  money. 
I'll  divide  with  you.  I'll  give  you  half.  You 
won't  have  to  do  anything  but  sit  still  and  wait. 
I'll  send  your  name  to  Wilhelmstrasse  and  when 
the  war  is  over  you'll  be  rich  —  rich  —  rich! 
You'll  be  decorated.  You've  only  got  to  keep 
your  mouth  shut. 

PARKER 

Good  God!  You  offer  me  Germany's  blood 
money  in  exchange  for  my  boy! 


MAKING  A  MAN  119 

FELDER 

Be  a  man !  I'll  give  you  three  quarters  —  all 
—  all !  Be  a  man ! 

PARKER 

With  God's  help  I  mean  to  be.  (He  grabs  up 
the  telephone  and  calls  at  the  top  of  his  lungs.) 
Help  !  Help  !  Police !  Help  !  A  German  has 
killed  my  child!  A  German!  A  German! 
Send  a  policeman!  Be  quick!  (At  this  MRS. 
PARKER  and  MAGGIE  rush  in.  Doors  are  flung 
open  and  frightened  faces  appear.  PARKER  has 
forced  FELDER  into  a  chair  where  he  crouches 
writhing.  PARKER  towers  above  him.)  Listen, 
all  of  you.  I  wanted  to  cheat  my  country  at  this 
time,  in  its  need,  in  its  peril.  God  forgive  me.  I 
fell  into  the  hands  of  this  cur;  this  carrion  in  the 
pay  of  Germany.  His  poison,  made  in  Germany, 
was  for  cowards  like  me.  It  was  to  create  an 
army  of  slackers.  By  a  turn  of  fate  it  has  killed 
my  boy,  my  boy  lying  dead  in  there.  I  know  now 
what  we  are  fighting  for  !  I  know  now  what  free 
dom  means  !  I  know  now  that  there  is  something 
dearer  to  me  than  my  body,  my  wretched  body. 
(Through  the  room  there  are  murmurs  of  "  Oh, 
the  pity  of  it.>}  "  His  child!  "  "  Horrible!  "  ) 
Listen.  For  months  I  could  see  myself  in  the 
trenches,  maimed,  smashed,  writhing  in  agony.  I 
lost  sight  of  the  great  thing,  the  great  cause,  my 


120  MAKING  A  MAN 

country's  need,  my  country's  peril;  the  murdered 
women  and  children,  the  devastated  cities.  I  saw 
only  the  infinitesimal  me.  It  took  that,  my  boy  in 
there,  killed  by  a  German,  to  bring  before  me  the 
mothers  and  children  of  Belgium. 

(Suddenly  there  is  a  commotion  outside  y  and 
voices  are  heard  crying ,  "  It's  the  police! 
Let  them  in!  Open  the  doors."  The 
groans  of  the  doctor  and  the  sobs  of  the 
women  are  almost  drowned  in  the  con 
fusion  as  the  curtain  falls.) 


THE    END 


f B  3 1 536 


66 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


